


Teachable Moments

by PurpleSugarQuills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is Worse at Feelings, F/M, Gay Theodore Nott, Good Theodore Nott, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger is Bad at Feelings, Masterbation, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleSugarQuills/pseuds/PurpleSugarQuills
Summary: It’s simple. When she doesn’t know how to do something, she learns. When she can’t figure something out, she researches. When she isn’t good at something, she practices. When she still doesn’t understand something, she consults an instructor.Twenty-seven years old and still a virgin, Hermione decides it’s time to employ someone to teach her the ins and outs of sex.It isn’t because she thinks he’s particularly handsome, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the way the bar lights gleam fire in his blond hair. And it certainly isn’t because she suspects Draco Malfoy might be some kind of sex god. No, he’s just there, sitting at the barstool next to her, and in that heartbeat Hermione finds herself brave enough to ask...
Relationships: Established background Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 414
Kudos: 1460
Collections: Dramione Favorites, The Dramione Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Waves nervously into a new fandom. Hello! This is my first Dramione fic, and hopefully not my last. Love these two hot nerds so, so much.
> 
> Big, huge thanks to [ ramsitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsitter/pseuds/ramsitter) for the beta work on this chapter.

She was at a bar, nursing her third Butterbeer of the night and feeling sorry for herself when she spotted him.

A smirk curled one edge of his mouth, the bar lights gleaming fire in his blond hair. For as long as she'd known him he'd felt untouchable, but in that moment she wanted to.

He was chatting with three men she recognized as Slytherins from school, and she wished for a vanishing charm or an invisibility cloak just to avoid being spotted. He might be handsome, but Draco Malfoy was insufferable. Vapid. Certainly not what she needed after another bad date.

And so, Hermione took another sip from her drink and hoped she looked just inconspicuous enough to go unnoticed by her former classmate-slash-reformed Death Eater.

Her fingers moved across her drink, cold and slick with condensation, and she sighed.

Two weeks shy of her twenty-eighth birthday, and Hermione Granger found herself alone after another bad first date.

It wasn’t that her date hadn’t been polite or kind or funny, and he hadn’t been particularly unattractive, either, it was just… She squinted down at the foam clinging to the sides of her glass… It was just that there was no spark. No attraction. Nothing that made her want to go out with him again.

And as she sat there, alone at her high top table, contemplating the state of her relationship status (or lack thereof), she lifted her gaze to lock eyes with the last person she wanted to talk to.

He stood to his full height. _Fuck_ when had he gotten so tall?! And as though knowing her miserable night could only serve to get more miserable by adding his company, he closed the distance between them and leaned against her table. Robes perfectly pressed and smelling faintly of Firewhiskey, Draco Malfoy smirked at her.

“I really hope you get better with alcohol and not worse,” she groaned into her drink.

“Better?” One of his brows lifted in question. “In what way?”

She took a sip to keep from responding, or from kicking his shin from under her table.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

His worst grin spread slowly across his face. “Now, Granger, I see an old friend--”

“Acquaintance, at best.”

“--from school looking so miserable on a Friday night and come all this way to offer my company, only to be snapped at.” He clucked his tongue. “I see your manners haven’t improved.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She tapped a chipped nail on the slightly sticky surface of the table before wrinkling her nose and dropping her hands back into her lap.

A deafening silence settled between them despite being surrounded by the laughter and chattering of witches and wizards on a busy night at the pub. Though Hermione kept her eyes fixated everywhere except on Draco Malfoy, she could feel his eyes ticking across her features.

With a sigh, she finally turned to make eye contact.

“What?”

He gave an innocently timed blink. “You look like someone’s taken away all your books, Granger. What’s wrong with you?”

She bit her lower lip. “That obvious, huh?”

Some of his blond hair fell across his forehead, and it looked sort of… soft.

“I’m just sorting out a problem, Malfoy. Someone like you couldn’t possibly understand.”

And though she hadn’t offered, he took the seat beside her and propped his chin on his hand. “Try me. Everyone tells me I’m very smart. Second only to the Brightest Witch of Our Age in school, in fact.”

She huffed, straightened, and then exhaled. “Fine. I’ll tell you if you really want to know, but you can’t tease me. Also, I’m going to need another drink.”

  
  
  


……

  
  
  


Draco set the Butterbeer on the surface of her table, watching the way her eyes darted from the full drink to him and back again.

“Okay,” she began, her voice holding that shrill, haughty edge that reminded him so much of _her_. Hermione Granger, Golden Girl and brightest witch of their age. She was the only person who could make confessing her feelings sound like she was doing a favor on his behalf.

“I’ve had a very hard day.”

He leveled his gaze on her, and when she didn’t elaborate, he sipped his Firewhiskey and waited patiently for her to continue. She was loads more entertaining than his workmates, so he kept his back to them while watching Hermione mentally debate with herself. Whatever it was, it was embarrassing judging by the pink of her cheeks and the way she kept chewing on her lower lip.

“I had a bad first date. They all are. Bad, I mean. The dates.”

He watched her hands fumble in her lap, her curls fall across her shoulders as she heaved another sigh. For someone who took so much pride in her brilliance, Draco wondered if she was aware when she wasn’t making any sense.

“I haven’t been out with a decent guy-- Well, they’re decent, I guess, but they don’t-- They don’t make me _feel_ anything, you know?”

She paused to squint at him, and he replied, honestly, “I don’t.”

“They don’t make me feel anything… like _that_. I don’t know how to be with a guy if I don’t feel that… spark, I guess.”

She might’ve been drunk. She was certainly rambling. Draco watched her cheeks flush, her fingers play with the edges of her glass, before it clicked.

“Ah, Granger, it sounds like _you_ need a shag.”

The laugh that tore from her throat held a bitter edge.

“ _That’s_ the understatement of the century, Malfoy.”

He wasn’t positive she was hitting on him, but Draco couldn’t help but watch the snooty, absolutely maddening girl from his youth. The same mess of brown curls, the same nose that crinkled at him in displeasure, the same absolutely kissable slope of her neck…

“How long has it been?” he asked, voice deeper than he’d intended.

She took a sip as an excuse to break the intense gaze, and then cleared her throat, “Ah-- Twenty… seven, almost twenty-eight years.”

He blinked. Somewhere a chorus of patrons laughed merrily, unaware that the prettiest girl in the bar was currently confessing her sexual history to him.

“Actually, before you walked over, I was in the middle of working this particular issue out.”

The _issue_ being her virginity, of course. He took a swallow of Firewhiskey. Funny how it burned more than just his throat.

“I _want_ to have sex, I do. But I don’t… I don’t know how. I think my lack of experience, but total and complete inability to get out of my headspace, is holding me back, keeping me from enjoying being with anyone in the moment. I think what I need is experience. And, unfortunately,” her voice remained prim, “this isn’t the sort of experience that’s easily self-taught. So I was considering seeking out a teacher.”

“A… teacher.”

“Yes, it’s rather simple, really. When I don’t know how to do something, I learn. When I can’t figure something out, I research. When I’m not good at something, I practice. When I _still_ don't understand something, I consult an instructor.”

“An… instructor.” His grip tightened around the glass. “For sex.” 

“Well, I understand if you’re not comfortable. It might be something you’re not very good at, anyway…”

Draco paused, fully aware that she was goading him. Appealing to his pride. He stared down at his Firewhiskey. It looked oddly accusatory for a single sphere of ice.

“And what do I get out of this deal, Granger?”

She blinked, just once, and he didn’t suspect her of feigning innocence. In fact, he didn’t suspect her of _feigning_ anything.

“You get... to have sex with me?”

He could feel his jaw clench, his neck roll. _Merlin, this witch_ …

“It’s fine.” Her smile was tight. “I hadn’t…” She sat straighter, and he could tell she was flashing him her fake smile. The one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll find someone else, then. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your evening.”

“So if I say no, you’re going to ask someone else?”

“Yes. Probably.”

She downed the last of her Butterbeer, and the foam clinging to her lips, around her mouth, made him pause. She probably tasted lovely, and then her pink tongue darted out, licking up some of the foam, hardly getting any of it, really.

He exhaled all the air from his lungs before filling them again and grunting, “Fine” around a tight jaw and a scowl. Like fucking Granger was something he’ll just have to do out of the goodness of his heart. As if he hadn't thought of it once or twice in all his years of knowing her.

Her eyes blinked at him, and Draco tried very hard to frown.

“Fine,” he grumbled again, convincing himself.

He wasn’t a fucking knight. He wasn’t there to protect Granger’s honor. But her eyes were glassy. She was drunk, probably. Insane for sure. And he couldn’t… He didn’t want… He’d always...

He exhaled. “Tomorrow. When you’re sober. I don’t want to wake up with a wand to my neck and you having no memory of this. You’ve waited this long, Granger. What’s the harm in one more day?”

Hermione Granger squinted at him, her brilliant brain somehow working through his words, and then she nodded.

“Yes, that works. Let’s meet here tomorrow, then. At seven o’clock.”

“You shouldn’t apparate in your condition.”

Her cheeks puffed in a way that was as childish as it was adorable, and she said, “I’m not _that_ drunk, Malfoy. But I live just around the corner, and I don’t mind walking.”

And because he was _such_ a gentleman, he stood to take her home. 

They walked the length of the street in relative silence, popping in and out of the halos of street lamps, and he watched the way the light hit her curls, the way the breeze caught the bottom of her dress like a cotton sail and whipped about her slender thighs.

When she looked over at him, her eyes big and her smile teasing, he knew she’d caught him staring. He jerked his head forward to hide any signs of embarrassment.

“Well,” she said awkwardly, like she was already finding the gaping holes in her terrible plan, “This is me.”

He leaned forward like he was going to kiss her, and she stared back positively horrified. With a smirk, he pressed a finger to her jaw and tilted her head to one side. He leaned in forward, lips teasing the shell of her ear when he whispered, “Goodnight, Granger.”

Then he pulled back, smirking at her wide eyes and parted mouth. He spun on his heel and started back the way he came.

“Tomorrow, Malfoy!” She shouted at his back. “Seven o’clock! We had a deal!”

He lifted a hand in a wave before stuffing it back into the depths of his pockets.

He’d be back, of course. He couldn’t wait to watch Granger squirm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to ramsitter who oh so kindly read through this chapter and made all sorts of suggestions and improvements.

Sat at the high top table at 6:49 PM, Hermione Granger took the moment to remind herself that she was good at a great many things.

Summoning and doubling charms, for instance. Recalling any and every fact from _Hogwarts: A History_. The secret to brewing the perfect cup of lavender chamomile tea. How to host a professional yet enjoyable Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Christmas party.

“Friendships,” she whispered to herself. “I’m grand at friendships.”

Anything more complicated, though… She sighed, fingertips drumming against the table. She wished she’d opted for a Butterbeer. Not to drink, no, she wanted a clear head for her next run in with Draco Malfoy--assuming he’d show--but it would be nice to have a prop to give her hands something to do.

Another glance at her slender wristwatch had her chewing on her lower lip. Ten till. A whole minute had passed, and though the pub was just starting to get lively for the evening, she couldn’t focus on much outside the pounding of her heartbeat against her ribs.

When she looked up again, she spotted him. Ten minutes early and wearing another pair of in-season robes that probably cost more than her weekly salary with the Ministry. His blond hair parted to one side, strands falling roguishly across his forehead.

Once again, she wished for something to do with her hands.

His eyes met hers as he leaned against the bar, smirking while he ordered a drink. A small tumbler with a sphere of ice and a generous pour of Firewhiskey was handed his way, and he took a sip, never breaking eye contact from over the rim.

Hermione could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she knew that looking away now was tantamount to losing at chicken. And if there was one person she couldn’t stomach a loss to, it was Draco Malfoy.  
  
When he made himself comfortable on the stool at her side, he greeted her with a short, “Granger.”

“Good evening, Malfoy,” she managed through gritted teeth.

“So,” he raised a brow. “How do we go about this, exactly?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.” She folded her hands on the table to keep from squirming. It gave her some semblance of control over her fidgeting limbs, at least. “Last night I was drunk.”

“I noticed.”

A wry grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Yes, well… I’d had a lot to drink.”

“And I see you aren’t making that mistake today.”

Hemione steepled her fingers. “No. But I do want to talk about… that. To be honest, I’m surprised you came.”

He chuckled into his Firewhiskey before taking a sip. “I wondered if you’d show, as well. I thought you’d either forget or be too embarrassed when you came-to. Figured you’d try to brush it off like it never happened.”

_It_ being propositioning him to instruct her the ins and outs of sex, of course. Hermione could feel warmth climbing up her neck.

“But I’m here. Seven o’clock, just like you demanded,” Malfoy spoke with a coquettish lift of a brow.

“Yes, well,” she tried to keep her voice prim, but she knew it was already bordering on shrill. “When I ‘came-to’ I realized what a horrible idea I’d had last night. And I wanted to… Ah, to thank you, for walking me home and not…”

Her voice trailed off, the unsaid words hanging between them. A gentleman would probably assure her that it wasn’t a problem and then bid her a good evening, leave her alone to her pathetic thoughts. But she knew Draco Malfoy wasn’t a gentleman. He might look the part, and he might not have taken advantage of her drunken state the night before, but he definitely, definitely wasn’t going to leave her be with a _you’re welcome_ and a nod goodnight.

No, he was going to make her suffer first.

“Are you thanking me for not fucking you, Granger?” He grinned, looking amused. “Well, I must say, that’s a first.”

“A blow to your ego, I’m sure.”

“Hardly.” His eyes darted back and forth between hers, and her fingers grasped at nothing. She’d _kill_ for a Butterbeer… “But we both know you _want_ to fuck me, you just haven’t figured out how to ask properly yet.”

“Want to?!” She laughed meanly. “I believe I’m telling you now that I _don’t_ want to, Malfoy. Last night was a mistake, and I’ve never once entertained the idea that--”

“But Granger, remember when I kissed your ear?”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but words failed her. At her mute stumbling, Malfoy smirked.

“See, I thought you might.”

She could feel her molars grinding. “I don’t scare easily, Malfoy.”

“Did I give you the impression that I wanted to frighten you, Granger?” He leaned forward, and she could smell the scent of Firewhiskey and fresh parchment and his expensive aftershave. “I must be losing my touch…”

“For what it’s worth, I do want to apologize for wasting so much of your time.” She folded her hands in her lap. There. Now she didn’t itch to touch his hair, or slap his cheek. “And I’m grateful that you’d agreed to help, that you hadn’t given me the opportunity to approach someone else. That would have been a mistake.”

“Anytime,” he replied easily, just as a pretty witch in a microscopic black skirt walked by, her eyes heated as they met Malfoy’s.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I also apologize for giving you the impression that you’d be getting laid this evening, but, honestly, she seems more your type. Probably a lot more fun than me.”

“Now, Granger, don’t sell yourself short.”

“You know better than most that I’m great at many things. But fun?” She laughed, aiming for humorless, but she missed the mark and it sounded self-deprecating to her own ears.

When she’d stopped laughing, she found him frowning at her. There was nothing teasing in his features, nothing scornful in the angle of his mouth. She noticed the way his green tie brought out the flecks of grey in his eyes. She was aware of the wide set of his shoulders, even beneath his overpriced robes. She almost sighed wistfully. It would’ve been nice to get a chance to touch his hair, just once...

To avoid embarrassing herself further, she stood from the barstool and cleared her throat. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“It is a shame, Granger. I think you’ll find that I'm a very good teacher. Obsessive about getting things done right, no matter how many lessons it might take.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, and his eyes dropped to her mouth.

Malfoy stood as well, and though her sensible heels lent her a couple extra inches, it did little put them on equal footing. Gods, he was so _tall_. She swallowed, mortified that it was audible thanks to her parched throat. If only she’d ordered that Butterbeer…

Malfoy chuckled, and just as he’d done the night before, he leaned forward and whispered, “Night, Granger” into her ear.

She shivered, and she knew it hadn’t escaped his notice. When she opened her mouth to say goodbye, he’d already turned and was walking toward the bar. Beneath his robes she knew he wore tailored clothing that showcased his back and a tapered waist, down to his backside where--

She swallowed again, exhaled, and only snuck two glances at the pretty witch in the black skirt before leaving. She wondered if Malfoy would seek her out later and take her back to his place.

Hermione walked home, alone, and once inside the quiet of her flat, she rubbed her temples.

Malfoy was right. She _did_ need a shag. 

  
  
  


……….

  
  
  


Sunday mornings were her favorite part of the week. She shed her usual jeans and t-shirts or her professional Ministry attire for a periwinkle sundress and a white ribbon in her hair.

Beneath the shade of a large umbrella, Ginny Weasley poured mimosas while Theodore Nott drowned a pile of Belgian waffles in syrup. 

Hermione watched her friends fondly. Theo and Ginny pretended they met here on Sundays as a reprieve of being photographed as a trio in the _Prophet_ , but Hermione suspected they just liked muggle brunches.

Hermione was accepting a flute filled with orange juice and champagne from Ginny when Theo’s haughty tone cut straight to the chase. 

“So, I hear you had drinks with Draco this weekend. Twice.”

Hermione caught the mimosa before it slipped out of Ginny’s grasp. The redhead’s lips parted in shock.

“What?! And why is this the first I’m hearing of it?!”

Hermione laughed. “ _Because_ there’s nothing to tell. I ran into Malfoy at a pub Friday night after my date with the guy Harry set me up with. The younger one, from the Transportation Department.”

Ginny squinted at her friend. “Another bad date?”

“He was perfectly lovely, and I had a nice time. I just can’t see myself with him, you know?”  
  
Theo cut into his sausages with the grace of a pureblood, and Hermione watched his impeccable table manners for the nth time in awe. He might’ve fit in with Ginny and her after he’d returned to Hogwarts for their eighth year, but his breeding let any onlooker in on the fact that his pedigree was wildly different from her own. When Theo’s lazy gaze caught hers, he frowned.

“I don’t, actually. When I go on a date, I save my judgement until _after_ I’ve taken him home with me.” He looked down his nose at her, very regal for a man in muggle clothing, eating breakfast sausages under a pink striped umbrella. “I think you need a shag.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Malfoy told me,” Hermione grumbled into her mimosa.

Ginny blinked. “And Saturday night you said you had plans. Are you telling me you didn’t come to the Harpies match because… you were having drinks with Malfoy again?”

“Saturday night…” Hermione squinted, avoiding Ginny’s face-splitting grin as she searched for a not-lie to tell her. “Saturday night, I got caught up in things.”

“Things?” Theo asked at the same time Ginny said, “By things, do you mean Malfoy? Or, _Merlin_ , do you mean Malfoy’s _thing_? Please tell me you mean Malfoy’s thing.”

Hermione was definitely going to ignore _that_.

Theo smirked. “I can’t help but notice that you didn’t say no.”

“No!” Hermione sighed. “No, definitely not. Malfoy’s… well, he’s Malfoy. But I had gotten extremely drunk Friday and he offered his help regarding a problem.”

“A Ministry problem?” Ginny set her drink on the table.

Theo frowned. “Or a why-is-Our-Generation’s-Golden-Girl-still-a-virgin problem?”

“A problem I was far too drunk to be dealing with at the time,” Hermione replied.

Theo regarded her with thoughtful eyes. He might’ve been friends with the Gryffindor girls for the past few years, but Hermione knew where his loyalties lie. He’d been friends with Malfoy far longer, after all. They had post-war scars to bond over in a way Hermione knew she’d never be able to.

“Malfoy didn’t… He didn’t take advantage of the situation, did he?” Ginny asked.

“No. No, not at all. In fact, he was a perfect gentleman. Well, actually not perfect. He teased me a lot. But he didn’t… He could have, but he didn’t.”

Theo’s eyes were still on her while Ginny exhaled.

“Well, that’s good.” And then she lifted her mimosa to her mouth as her lips curled to a grin. “So, is he as handsome as he was in school? I remember when you’d come back from prefect rounds, you’d always be so flushed when you’d have a run-in with him.”

Hermione was suddenly interested in slathering a slice of toast with strawberry jelly.

“Handsom _er_ , in my opinion.” Theo winked. “But don’t tell him I said that. It’ll go straight to his head. Bloke’s got an ego the size of a Ukrainian Ironbelly.” 

“And,” Ginny grinned, propping both her elbows on the tabletop, making Theo’s nose wrinkle. “How was _your_ date?”

He shrugged a single shoulder. “Fine.”

“Just _fine_?!” Ginny sighed wistfully. “No inappropriate details to share to make me wildly jealous?”

“We went to dinner, took a walk down by the river, he told me his hopes and dreams, we shagged, he left--nothing much else to report.”

“Ah! New romance is a beautiful thing! Harry clips his toenails in front of me now, you know,” Ginny said before tipping back her mimosa and finishing the last of it. She reached for the pitcher to pour another round while Hermione watched on warmly.

“You know, I can turn the library back into your bedroom whenever you decide you’re ready to move back into our flat,” Hermione reminded her.

“Or, you can both move into the Manor. It’ll be like Sunday brunch every day.”

“Ohh, I bet we’d even get our own wings!” Ginny grinned.

  
  
  


…...

  
  
  


Hermione Granger was having an awful day.

One of her coworkers had misfiled the papers she’d so carefully put together on a recent case regarding the breeding and sale of Welsh Green Dragons. She’d skipped lunch to help piece the reports back together, and then she’d had to rush through the first draft of the updated land protection law for Giants. It had to be submitted before the Minister by the end of the week, and it was so far from being ready Hermione wanted to cry. 

She’d spilled some coffee on her blouse, too distracted to cast a _Scourgify_ , and no matter how many times she attempted to smooth down her hair her curls wouldn’t cooperate.

And then as the last of her coworkers were heading home for the day, an owl dropped a letter onto the surface of her desk and she flinched at the fat navy envelope--her name _ & Guest _ written in sprawling, silver calligraphy.  
  
It looked expensive. She fiddled with the wax seal for a moment before dropping the invitation into the depths of her beaded bag. She’d deal with _that_ later. Maybe grab a pumpkin pasty on the way home to stuff in her face while she read the finer details of the invitation. Or perhaps she’d treat herself to a new book…

Harry popped into her office, wincing when he caught her expression.

“It’s fine.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “I’m good. Ginny told me he was proposing. I’m way, way over Ron. It’s just been a long day.”

Harry sat at the chair in front of her desk and lifted both hands. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m sure you got your invitation and ran all the way here from level 2. And I appreciate it, I do, Harry. But I’m happy for him.”

“You can be happy for him and still be--”  
  
She pointed the tip of her quill at him. “I told you, I’m fine. When Ron and I broke up and he moved to France to play quidditch, I always knew him settling down with a perfect Beauxbaton girl was a real possibility.”  
  
Harry nodded, just once. “Yeah. So, are you going to the wedding?”

“Of course! Ron is one of my oldest, dearest friends. And Camille is lovely.”  
  
“Okay.” Harry nodded, rubbing his knees through his trousers. Then he stood, shooting Hermione a tight smile. “If you’re good, I’m good.”  
  
“I’m good.”  
  
“You should bring a date.”  
  
Hermione laughed as he backed away. “Have a good day, Harry.”  
  
The door to her office clicked shut behind him, and Hermione sighed. With a sudden urge to get out of the office and buy that pumpkin pasty, and definitely that book, she sent off the draft to be proofed by her boss and yanked her bag over a shoulder, nearly sprinting to the lift.  
  
When she exited into the lobby, there was Draco Malfoy holding the door to the Ministry open for her, a smirk dancing across his features.

Hermione wanted to scream. It was like the whole fucking world was kicking her in the teeth.

“Malfoy,” she greeted.

“Granger.”

Over the years they’d hardly interacted, and now she seemed to spot him around every corner.  
  
“Working late this evening,” she said conversationally, keeping her pace slow to see if he’d leave her behind with his usual long strides.

It was a Tuesday evening, and the promise of rain hung in the air. She wanted to touch her curls, knowing what the humidity did to her hair, but she wouldn’t give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

He’d already witnessed her at her lowest too many times in the last handful of days. She tipped her nose into the air, attempting to look the part of war heroine and brightest witch of their age. Titles she normally tried to shake off, but right then, with Malfoy towering over her, smirking down the slope of his aristocratic nose, she wanted to remind him just who he was dealing with.

“Let’s get a drink,” he said conversationally.

Hermione kept herself from tripping. It was a small victory. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

“No.” She felt herself squirm. “I think we’ve already had our fair share of drinks together, Malfoy. Besides, I have an errand to run.”

“I’ll join you.”

“You really have nothing better to do?” she asked, voice incredulous.

“Not a thing.”

And that’s how she found herself walking into Flourish and Blotts alongside Draco Malfoy.

He gave her space, pursuing the new release shelves at her side, and she could feel his eyes on her ever so often. When she finally glanced at him, she found amusement in his grey eyes.

“So, your errand was looking at books?”

“I like books.”

He smiled, his voice soft. “I know.”

Something sort of unpleasant turned her insides. Surely this wasn’t what people called ‘butterflies’?  
  
Hermione realized she’d had her hand resting on a book’s spine as she stared at him. Quickly, she procured the book from the shelf and pretended to study its contents, flipping through the pages and noticing for the first time it was a book outlining the history leading up to the First Wizarding War.

She reshelved the book. It wasn’t the sort of distraction she’d wanted after today. At her side, Malfoy leaned against the shelf and said, “So, I've been thinking about your offer.”

“Which I rescinded.”

He shrugged, like it was up for debate. “I don’t think you’re ready for me to touch you yet.”

Her mouth popped open, but before she could object, he continued, “But I have some ideas.”

She opened the newest book in Edward Gildenhien’s series regarding the treatment of merpeople throughout the ages. She had enjoyed the premise, but Gildenhien’s prose was verbose, and he had a pompous way of recapping, like she couldn’t be trusted to remember the contents of his previous chapter. Sure, she’d been a swotty know-it-all her entire life, but the tone of his book was uncompromising in his opinion. She much preferred Sveritte Noggle’s take--

“Ugh. Gildenhien? He’s a complete prat.”

Not wanting to be caught agreeing with Malfoy, she huffed. “I quite like his commentary on the treatment of merpeople and some of his ideas on how the wizarding community could extend similar pardons to vampires and hags.”

He exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Surely you’re smarter than that, Granger. If you want a better opinion…” he searched the stacks and procured a book. Hermione’s eyes widened. “Here.”

Her eyes darted from the book he was holding to his eyes and back again. “And what do you like about Sveritte Noggle?”

She was blushing a little as she asked the question; for her, asking a man his opinion on a book was like asking him to take off his shirt. Hermione carefully avoided eye contact by pretending to be absorbed in the cover of Noggle’s book, turning her face down to hide her flushed cheeks.  
  
“Noggle presents the same arguments as Gildenhien without managing to be a complete prick about it. Noggle also has the decency to not recap his opinions every third page,” Malfoy huffed. “Gildenhien’s writing is far too tedious.”

Hermione opened Gildenhien’s book and pretended to read the forward, pretended to ignore the feeling of Malfoy’s eyes ticking across her features.

Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. It was heated, and she got the distinct impression he was no longer thinking about Gildenhien’s prose.  
  
“What?” she snapped.  
  
“Do you ever touch yourself, Granger?”

Hermione nearly dropped the book on his foot. When she looked around to confirm there was no one in the shop close enough to hear their conversation, she hissed. “Of course.”

A lazy smile spread across his features. “Good.”

She lifted a brow, a silent challenge. “What are you saying, Malfoy?” she asked, pressing Gildenhien’s new book against her chest like it could protect her from his next words.

“I want you to go home, draw a bath, spread your legs, and with that brilliant mind of yours… think of something that will make you come.”  
  
Her cheeks were aflame, knuckles white around the edges of Gildenhien’s book.  
  
“Think about whatever it is that gets you wet.” He smirked as he watched the trepidation ignite her features. “Search through your memories, focus on the ones that make your knees weak.” 

He shifted closer to her, breath on her ear. Hermione swallowed, wondering if maybe she’ll think of this later… Draco Malfoy’s lips on her ear, in a public space where anyone could see… Hermione closed her eyes and felt his warmth evaporate as he took a step back.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her.  
  
“Fine. If my homework today is to go home and touch myself…” 

He sighed, grey eyes rolling dramatically. “Not just touch yourself, Granger. _Listen_ to me. You need to get out of that head of yours. Enjoy yourself. Figure out what makes you come. And then... report back with your findings, and we can go from there.” 

She watched him for a moment, the weight of Gildenhien’s novel slipping from her grasp.  
  
“You’re incorrigible.”

“Come now, Granger, we both know I was given a full pardon. You spoke at my trial yourself.”  
  
She exhaled, grumbled a clipped, “Fine,” and then marched to the register to purchase Gildenhien’s book, not wanting to admit aloud that Malfoy’s opinion on the prose and tone mirrored her own. She also plucked a new featured fiction novel off the register to buy as well. Just in case she needed something lighter to read. Later. After she touched herself.  
  
She was already flushed as she left the shop, Malfoy quick on her heels.  
  
“I’ll see you around, Granger,” he said, nodding and leaving her in front of Flourish and Blotts with flushed cheeks and two books she hadn’t intended on purchasing.

When she was back at her flat, Hermione tossed her bag by the door and sighed. Vanished from her mind was the long day of paperwork, the coffee stain on her blouse, and the invitation to Ron’s perfect wedding.  
  
She stomped into the bathroom, Malfoy’s whisper burning her ear.  
  
_Go home, draw a bath, spread your legs…_

She yanked the faucet, watching as the tub filled. Had the water in her flat always been so slow? She tapped her foot, steam from the bath lingering around her calves as she unbuttoned her stained blouse and shimmied out of her pencil skirt.  
  
Her clothes in a haphazard pile on her bathroom floor, Hermione dumped enough peppermint oil into the clawfoot tub to have her entire flat smelling like mint for a week. Then she sank into the scented bath up to her nose, slammed her eyes closed, and spread her legs.  
  
It was impossible to get out of her own head… She trailed a hand down her stomach, fingers slipping between her legs. Her face flushed, from the heat of the water or the heady smell of peppermint or the memory of Malfoy’s lips teasing the shell of her ear…  
  
She sunk two fingers inside herself and groaned.

No. Not in the bath. This is what _he_ had told her to do, and Hermione grumbled as she got to her feet, cast a quick Hot-Air charm to dry herself and stormed across her flat into her room to lay on the top of her still made bed.  
  
She tried to get out of her own head… Tried to remember what made her hot, made her squirm. Her teeth sunk into the flesh of her lip, remembering the first thing she’d touched herself to, her favorite fantasy from long, long ago.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and there bloomed a familiar vision of herself in her Hogwarts uniform, arms crossed as she marched through the castle. Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting long, tricky shadows across the stone floor. Her shoes echoed with each step, and on her bed, Hermione panted in anticipation.  
  
She was back on prefect rounds, turning a corner to find Draco Malfoy sneaking through the shadows, definitely up to no good.  
  
Hermione trailed her fingers through her hair, down her neck, fingers skating over her clavicle before dipping between breasts. She squeezed her left breast gently, keeping her fingers just inches from her nipples.  
  
In her fantasy, Draco Malfoy smirked at her. And instead of glaring and telling him to go back to his dorm, she smiled back at him. Instead of crossing her arms and raising her nose, she pressed against him and asked him to fuck her there between the shadows and the cold stone wall.  
  
Hermione squeezed her nipple, gasping, as her other hand trailed lower, over her navel and between her legs. She ran two fingers over her lips, unsurprised to find herself wet. She slid her fingers back and forth, slowly, stopping just shy of her clit.

In school she’d lay in her bed in the Gryffindor dorm, move her fingers beneath the blankets, dip them under the band of her knickers, and replay the fantasy of Draco Malfoy flipping up her skirt as she unbuttoned his trousers.  
  
In the fantasy, she grasped his shoulders while he pressed open mouth kisses along her neck. She tilted her head to one side to grant him better access, and on her bed she moaned.  
  
It wasn’t her fingers that sunk inside her, but his cock. She added a second finger, imagining the way Malfoy would grip her hip, slam her back against the wall. The way his breath felt as it tickled her ear.  
  
She tugged at her left nipple, her hips lifting off the bed as she imagined running her fingers through his hair, sliding her hands down his chest, moaning his name as he made her come against the castle wall.  
  
A few more long, slow strokes, and she curled her fingers against the sensitive spot she knew would bring her over the edge.  
  
The all-consuming build up started--Hermione kept one hand on her breast, tugging at her nipple, imagining it was Malfoy’s tongue, his teeth. Her other hand moved to swirl around her clit.  
  
Her hips rocked and she slid her finger back inside. In her fantasy, Malfoy pushed against her, hoisted up her knee as he told her how much he wanted her to come, and her hips moved on the bed, matching his every thrust.  
  
The endorphins built and her toes curled as the electric dominos started falling in different directions under skin. She felt herself clench around her finger and her head tipped further back--a single, breathy moan escaping her lips.

As she brought herself to completion, Hermione arched her back and gasped, basking in post-climactic bliss.

Her vision cleared as she panted, one hand still on her breast, the other splayed out against her blankets. She was no longer pushed against the stone hallway with Draco Malfoy but at home, in her bed.

Alone.

Malfoy had asked to find what made her hot. Hermione caught her lower lip with her teeth and exhaled, and with striking clarity she knew she wanted the man with the cocksure smirk that she’d just fucked in her fantasies.  
  
She wanted to hear his opinion on books and see if his hair was as soft as it looked.

She panted, bringing both of her hands to cover her face.

Oh, she was so, incredibly _fucked…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so late. I'm pretty new to this fandom, and I have a TON of reading to catch up on. I ended up spending most my evenings reading instead of writing :P
> 
> Once again, all the thanks to ramsitter for beta-ing this chapter.

Draco leaned against the wall at the Ministry, checking his watch as he waited for his new favorite source of entertainment to appear. He was certain he hadn’t missed her, but it was nearing seven thirty. The lift chimed and as the doors opened to reveal Hermione Granger, he pushed off the wall.

She spotted him almost immediately. One of her brows quirked high in question as he walked to join her in the center of the nearly empty atrium.

“Were you waiting long?” she asked, a hard edge to her words and she assessed him. He could feel her exasperation; fueling it was becoming his new favorite hobby.

“Dreadfully so. You work far too late.”

She hummed, but didn’t comment further. He knew she was a workaholic with few commitments outside work, and frankly she _cared_ way too fucking much about things to just leave when her workday was up.

He held the door open and she brushed past him. He could feel the smirk tugging at his lips, but he bit back any retort. He could see it plain on her face--her eyes were the color of Firewhiskey and nearly as heated. She was boiling with it, the need to ask _why_ he’d been waiting for her in the ministry lobby.

_Good_. He liked watching her think, watching her stew and suffer in silence.

They walked the length of the street. It was unseasonably cool for early September, and Granger yanked into her beaded bag to retrieve a white knit cap to tug over her ears and curls before stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat.

“So,” Draco began, leaning into her a bit and cutting straight to the chase. “What did you touch yourself to? It might be helpful for us going forward.”

She flushed a lovely shade of pink. “I…”

A slow, lazy blink and he sighed. “Did you even complete your assignment, Granger?”

“Yes.” Her lips pressed to a thin line. “I did.”

“And you managed to come?”

Around them, the world was tinged with autumn. Hermione stumbled. Beneath her heels, the pavement was covered in a layer of trodden leaves. Above their heads, the trees shook as the wind tried to rip what leaves were left free.

Finally, she met his eyes and inclined her head. “I did.”

“Good girl. And what did you think about? What was the fantasy that got you there?”

She swallowed and looked away again. Draco laughed.

“Come now, Granger. After this deal we’ve made, after you propositioned me to shag you in a pub using words like _instruction_ and _tutoring_ , there isn’t a thing you could possibly be embarrassed to tell me.”

Her brows narrowed, and she glared at him for a long moment. She stopped walking and he stopped, too, spinning on his heel to watch her sigh.

“Fine, Malfoy. If there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I touched myself while thinking about you fucking me against the wall at Hogwarts while I was on prefects rounds.”

His mouth opened to say something, but he’d suddenly forgotten how to form words. How to think. Breathe.

She lifted a brow, even as her cheeks flushed. “Does that work?”

“Ah-- yes.” His voice nearly cracked. “That’s fine.”

“Fine? Is it?”

He inhaled, exhaled. Attempted to school his features into something calm and casual before asking, “And is this a new fantasy of yours?”

She bit her lower lip but held his gaze. “Not really, no.”

“Well, then.” He was hot, everywhere. “I think I owe you a drink.”

She smiled. Draco found it very soft and innocent for a girl who’d just confessed to slipping her hands between her legs and coming to thoughts of _him_ on apparently more than one occasion.

“Fine.” Granger shrugged. _Fine._ He shook his head, but couldn’t quite shake the smirk tugging one corner of his mouth.

She led the way to a pub after he’d told her he didn’t care which. She secured them a table near the wall barely big enough for two people while he ordered a Firewhiskey and a Butterbeer, and she smiled at him when he sat it in front of her. Their knees touched under the table, and he shook his head in an attempt to shake the distraction he'd felt since Hermione Granger confessed what she last touched herself to.

“Drinking this time, I see,” he commented as she lifted the Butterbeer to her lips and took a long pull.

One of her shoulders lifted to her ear, and he noticed she’d removed the knit cap. Her curls were frizzier than normal.

“It was a long day at work. And I like Butterbeer.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He’d noticed a lot of things about her recently, but he didn’t want to comment on any of those things just then.  
  
“How are things with the aurors?” she asked conversationally.

Draco frowned. _Work_ . She wanted to talk about _work_. 

“It’s fine. The pay is shite. I’m not supposed to talk about the specifics, but I imagine Potter blabs so you already know everything.”  
  
“Harry doesn’t talk about work much. Not around me, anyway. I’m sure he’s told Ginny everything because she pries and he can’t really have any secrets around her.” Her lips flexed.

Draco had always found her attractive. Objectively, she was a pretty witch. Everyone thought so. But with her knees touching his under the table he thought of the first time he’d been knocked in the gut with it--with the knowledge that she was fucking stunning and he’d be an idiot to think otherwise. He remembered soft curls and a periwinkle dress. He sipped his Firewhiskey, trying to think if there’d ever been a sign she’d been interested in him. None was forthcoming.

She’d slapped him once--he’d deserved it, probably. He’d been a prat. She’d called him names, scoffed, and apparently fantasized about him _fucking her on prefect rounds._

 _That_ bit of knowledge might’ve been useful in his school days…

“Do you like the work?” she asked. “Besides the shite Ministry salary and the insane hours and all the secrecy?”

“Yes. It’s good, challenging.” He noted with interest the way she perked up at that. Bloody witch, of course she’d like that he enjoyed being challenged. “I don’t _need_ the money, of course, and the hours haven’t ever been an issue.”

He leaned forward. Her eyes were very brown.

Lowering his voice, he said, “And I quite like the exclusivity that comes with having secrets.”

Her eyes moved across his features. He wondered what she thought of him. Well, he knew she’d asked him to shag her, once, and then she’d gone and admitted that she’d _touched herself_ to him. He shifted in his seat.

“And you’re good at keeping secrets?”

“I’m good at many things, Granger.”

She hummed and sipped her drink.

When he walked her back to her flat, she smiled at him. That white cap was back over her hair and her cheeks were pink--the autumn chill or maybe his proximity? Draco smirked and she rolled her eyes.

“Good evening, Malfoy. Thank you for the drink.”

“Thank you for the conversation. Today was… eye-opening.”

She glared at him and instead of whispering in her ear, he pressed his lips against her cheek--gently, softly. Her eyes were wide as he pulled away.

With a satisfied smirk and a warmth in his chest, Draco didn’t look back at her while he walked away. But he could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head, and he could practically hear the retort burning on the tip of her tongue.

He’d let her shout at him next time.

 _Next time_ . Draco shook his head. He was doing this, then, wasn’t he? 

In the morning, he’d barely finished his tea and none of his breakfast when he flipped the _Prophet_ to the society pages and there was a looping photo of Hermione Granger smiling up at him. Her hair in that ridiculous white cap, her eyes sort of shiny as he kissed her cheek.

Draco smirked. She’d probably try and _Stupefy_ him next time they meet. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

  
  
  


………..

  
  
  


On Saturday evening, Draco found himself in a dodgy bar on Knockturn with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. They’d been mates at school, but more than that, nowadays they were two of the few people he kept in close contact with.

He’d been released from Azkaban and granted a full pardon, but his reputation had been smudged. Even now, with his mother’s philanthropy and his career with the Ministry, it had taken years for people to warm up to the Malfoys again.

But the first night he’d returned home, shunned by the world and half-broken, Blaise had poured him a drink and Theo had brewed him a dreamless sleep potion, and no one talked about the past or the future. It wasn’t about who they’d lost or what they’d done or how they’d ever regain any sense of normality.

And now… Well, now it was mostly Blaise’s clear eyes cutting across the room, deciding which lucky witch he’d be taking back to his place. And then there was Theo who frowned at his gaudy watch and said, “I should head back soon.”

“Oh, got an early meeting with the Brunch Bunch in the morning?” Blaise teased, his eyes not leaving a pretty brunette sat at the bar.

“Brunch Bunch?” Draco asked.

“Blaise is being a prick. It isn’t a big deal. I have brunch with ‘Mione and Gin on Sundays.”

“ _What_?” Draco half asked, half snorted.

“Didn’t you know? Theo’s an honorary Gryffindor girl,” Blaise teased.

“You all left me for eighth year. There was practically no one to talk to.”

“Sorry, mate. Some of us were serving sentences in Azkaban,” Draco grumbled before knocking back the rest of his Firewhiskey. Theo had paid, and Theo never spared any expense for top-shelf booze. It was quite good.

“Yes, well, they were kind. Surprisingly funny, and they kept my mind off how shitty everything else was.” Theo shrugged, and Draco watched the way his fingers tapped against the side of his glass, almost nervously. “We have brunch on Sundays. Muggle breakfast booze isn’t bad, actually.”  
  
“And I’m sure the conversation is _riveting_ ,” Blaise drawled.

Draco turned his attention back to Theo, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin.

  
  
  


…..

  
  
  


  
They were already seated when he showed up. Granger’s hands were moving as she talked, her face pinched in rage. Her cheeks were his favorite shade of pink.

“Well, according to Skeeter, you’re already shagging him,” Ginny interrupted, and Draco watched the way Hermione picked up a scone and glared across the table at her friend.

With a huff, she tore a fat chunk off the scone. “You know nothing she says is factual, right?”

“I don’t know. It _does_ look like you fancy me here, Granger.”

Draco dropped into the only empty seat at the square table and watched as she stiffened at his side.

“Why are you in muggle London, bothering me over brunch?”

Draco draped the linen napkin across his lap. “Theo invited me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Theo told me that you three do this and I invited myself.”

Granger glared across the table at Nott while he tried very hard not to smile.

Before anyone could say anything else, the waitress flounced back toward their table, no ounce of anger at their having a late arrival. Instead, she only smiled and asked if he’d like a menu.

“No,” Hermione interjected. “He isn’t staying.”  
  
“Yes, a menu would be lovely. And tea, please.”

Granger stuffed the chunk of scone she’d been clutching into her mouth while Ginny Weasley folded her arms on the table, her face painted in amusement as she watched their exchange.

“We were just grilling Hermione about the _Prophet_ article.”  
  
“You heard the lady,” he replied. “Don’t believe the rubbish that paper prints.”

Ginny nodded, and without asking she snatched his empty glass and filled it with orange liquid from the carafe in front of her. Draco glanced around, noticing both Nott and Granger were also drinking it, and he took a cautious sniff. It smelled like citrus. He took a tentative sip and found the tang of oranges and champagne not as bad as he’d feared.

“It’s called a mimosa,” Ginny explained. “A cocktail acceptable for breakfast. _So_ , there’s nothing to this article then? Because words can be deceiving, sure, but to me it looks like you’re kissing my friend’s cheek and she isn’t shoving you away.”

He watched the photo loop like he hadn’t studied it a thousand times in the last handful of hours and hummed. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Granger grumbled around a mouthful of scone.

He took a sip from the flute and turned to Granger.

“How was Gildenhien’s latest book? Did you find his opinions to your liking, or were you left craving Noggle?”

“Ughh,” Ginny groaned, making a show of tossing her head back in exasperation. “Please, we’ve already made it through the brunch portion of Hermione’s latest book review. Please don’t get her started on Gildenhien’s book again. I don’t think I can handle another rant on recapping and prose.”

Theo nodded. “I’d have to agree. Anything but books.”

Draco, however, hadn’t taken his eyes off of Granger who was pushing potatoes around on her plate and avoiding his knowing grin.

Draco fancied himself great at many things, but letting things go was not among them.

“Is that so? And here I thought _I’d_ been the one to call Gildenhien a prat while you were busy defending his opinions.” He smirked at her, knowing, and she finally lifted her head.

“Fine. No books then. How was practice yesterday, Gin?”

“Quidditch?” the redhead intoned. “You’d rather talk _Quidditch_ than books?”

Her eyes darted to Draco and then Theo and back again. Biting her lip, Ginny gave a quick recap on the team, and Draco asked polite questions about their upcoming match while Theo asked who the fittest bloke on the opposing team was. Granger finished her scone in silence.

When their plates were empty and the second carafe of mimosas drank, they stood to part ways. Draco watched Theo walk the opposite direction of the apparition point, while Ginny scuttled off to get ready for her afternoon with Potter, and then he was alone with Granger.

She sighed, like she’d been holding all that air in her lungs for ages.

“I knew you were right about Gildenhien that day at the shop. It was just… surprising. Disagreeing with you was a reflex,” she explained.

Draco laughed. When he was done and his face sober, he said, “I’ll walk you to the apparition point.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“This?” he asked.

She stopped walking, her face flushed and frustrated. “Yes, _this_ . Don’t pretend like you don’t know. You and I work in the same building, have overlapping acquaintances, and we never, _never_ talk. And suddenly…” Her eyes widened. “And suddenly I can’t get rid of you! You’re around every corner, reminding me of the time when I got so pissed I propositioned you to take my virginity and I…” Her wide eyes were glassy. Draco watched, hoping she wouldn’t burst into tears. “I just want to forget. I don’t like not being in control. I hate being made a fool.”

“You aren’t a fool,” he told her.

“Not normally. But that night I very much was.” She shook her head, her curls secured behind her head in a tidy chignon. He’d prefer it down, falling around her shoulders. But it was nice this way, too, leaving her neck exposed.

“I don’t pride myself on being a virgin,” she confessed, so quietly he’d barely heard her.

And she was still talking, her hands wringing in front of her. “It’s not like I was saving it, it just… there wasn’t… I hate that it’s now this _thing_ that I’m insecure about. And I would like a teacher; that hasn’t changed. However, that _still_ doesn’t answer why you’re here in muggle London having tea and mimosas with me and my friends.”

“I’d say Theo is more _my_ friend.”

“People can have more than one friend, Malfoy.” Her gaze was sharp. “So? You’re bothering me because, what? I mentioned sex in front of you once and now you want to get under my robes? If you’d wanted a shag, you could’ve had one that night. So why are you doing this?”

“Now Granger, you can’t just tell me that you touch yourself to a fantasy of me, that you’ve _been_ enjoying this particular fantasy for years, possibly, and then expect I’ll leave you alone.”

She went pale.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve thought of you, too.”

She made a face. “It doesn’t.”

Draco chuckled. “When you decide you are serious about this, Granger, floo me. Or pop by my office. I assume you know where that is?”

She nodded, once.

“Thanks for inviting me to brunch. I’ll see you next week.”

“I didn’t invite you! _No one_ invited you!” she shouted at his back. Draco smirked and lifted his hand in a wave, once again relishing in the feeling of Hermione Granger's glare burning holes into the back of his skull.

He could really get used to this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my beta, ramsitter, for reminding me that sectumsempra scars are sexy and reassuring me that I don't write cringey smut :D
> 
> That brings to my warning (if it's really a warning at all, seeing as to how the premise of this story is Draco teaching Hermione about sex and you decided to give it a read...) but from here on out, it's 'bout to get spicy.

Hermione generally stayed in her office long after her coworkers had gone home. Her boss had made sure to remind her on more than one occasion that no one expected her to work past 5:00, and certainly not every day. However, she _liked_ those quiet evening hours when there were no distractions. The kitchen was empty and she could grab a cup of tea and head back to her office, sink into her desk chair and work in peace.

However, by the afternoon of September 19, she knew she’d have no time to herself.

Harry had brought her breakfast and coffee from her favorite shop, and her coworkers at the DRCMC had taken her out to lunch. They’d all pitched in and made a donation in her name to a charity that worked with dragon and unicorn land protection grants.

It was, however, the gathering of a few of her office mates right at 4 pm that had Hermione nearly groaning at her desk.

“We need you for, ah, something in the Ministry hall! It’s urgent,” Derek Spiegal had announced, unable to keep the affable smile from pulling at his features.

Hermione set her quill down and tried not to let her exasperation show. “I’m very busy. Is it important?”

Alice Norget nodded. “Yes, yes. Very urgent. Something we need _you_ for.”

Hermione got to her feet and followed her office mates into the grand Ministry hall that was most frequently used for official Ministry gatherings and holiday parties.

They walked through the large oak doorway to find red and gold balloons crowding the ceiling and a gaudy sign that spelled out _Happy Birthday Hermione_ , followed by a pair of exclamation points.

Judging by the amount of people who shouted, “Surprise!” in her direction, Hermione suspected the entirety of the Ministry had been invited.

Harry was the first to hug her, laughing softly and whispering a quick apology in her ear. “I told them not to make it so big, but they insisted.”

There was chattering over appetizers and then a large cake was wheeled out. It was slightly humiliating, really, and while more than half the employees at the ministry crooned the birthday song in her direction, she sighed.

It wasn’t until she bent to blow out the pair of candles that pointed out that she was 28 that she noticed the cake.

“Is that a House Elf printed on it?” she asked, but a couple people only laughed and then they were slicing into the image. Hermione frowned.

She was standing between a man from the Transportation Department who had once asked her out and an elderly witch whose name she couldn’t remember when her eyes flickered to watch as Draco Malfoy strode through the open set of arched doors.

Damn the arrogant prat for making her breath hitch… His hair tousled, falling across his forehead, his blue Oxford tucked neatly into a pair of dark grey trousers, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his toned forearms.

The smirk fell from his lips as he approached, his eyes darting to the top of her head, following the elastic string that cut into her cheeks and jaw unattractively.

“You have a cone on your head.”

“It’s a party hat, Malfoy.”

He sneered at it. “Must be a muggle thing.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” she replied, only half surprised that his coming up and insulting her was the first genuine smile she’d sported since her party had begun.

“And? Are you having a nice time?”

She pouted. “Someone put a House Elf on my cake.”

“Did they now? Probably couldn’t think of anything else you loved as much.”

Setting her plastic plate down on the nearest surface, she sunk her fork into the slice of cake, watching as the icing sunk into the wells of her fork. “I think they’re teasing me.”

“Probably…” He leaned into her ear, and she could feel his heat through his clothes, could smell the scent of fresh parchment and expensive aftershave--the one she associated with Draco Malfoy. “Come up to the roof with me.”

She lifted a brow. “Did you get me a present?”

He bit his lip, just stopping his smirk from being totally insufferable. “I could give you something.”

Hermione felt her own lips part, a silent breath escaping, and for a moment she forgot about all the Ministry people in the room eating House Elf cake and chattering white noise around her. All her senses were acutely aware of the tall blond man smirking at her, and then Cormac McLaggen was there and her bubble burst.

He was eyeing the pair, a brow raised conspiratorially. Hermione wanted to stamp her foot. Couldn’t she have _one_ nice moment? It was her birthday, after all.

“Bit of advice, Malfoy?” Cormac drawled.

Malfoy, however, was busy glaring at the other man for interrupting his fun.

“Hermione’s fit, I get that. But I’ve been there, tried that. Got one orgasm out of her but she wouldn’t let me get off.” Cormac sucked a bit of icing off his thumb, eyes moving over Hermione’s face. “I wouldn’t suggest wasting your time. Isn’t worth the trouble.” Then he winked at her. _Winked_ like he hadn’t just insulted her to her face. “Happy birthday, love.”

She stared back at him, mouth agape, and it was a too long moment before she gathered herself. Cormac hadn’t been high on her list of favorite people, but just then her fingers itched to hex him. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and glared.

“Malfoy. You said you were going to show me the rooftop?”

Malfoy looked nearly as surprised as she felt at her words, but it only took a heartbeat before they shifted something in him.

“You’re the birthday girl…” he replied, voice so low it made a shiver race down her spine. “Lead the way.”

They trudged up the stairwell in silence. Once in solitude on the rooftop of the Ministry, Malfoy cast a locking charm at the door and Hermione felt herself grateful for the privacy. It was a rare warm, September day with lots of sunshine for the Golden Girl’s birthday. At least, that’s what the _Prophet_ had printed this morning. She could feel frustration surging through her, could feel her fists tightening at her sides.

“McLaggen’s given you an orgasm?!”

She balked. “What?!”

His grey stare was piercing, surprised and a kind of… wounded. “You said you were untouched.”

“I said I was a virgin, not that I’ve never done anything.” Hermione’s earlier anger with Cormac was rapidly swapping to being peeved with Malfoy. She crossed her arms. “And it bothers you that I’m not, what word did you use, untouched?”

He made a face like _she_ was the one being ridiculous here. “No. It bothers me that you wasted time with an idiot like McLaggen.” His grey eyes focused on her--a twisting maelstrom of stormy water. “Who else?”

“Who else…?”

“Who else has touched you?”

“Malfoy,” she snorted with indignation. “That has absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“I’m trying to _help_ you, Granger. Has that not been clear?”

She could feel the heat flushing her cheeks. Her arms were still crossed, but she knew it had less to do with the simmering rage she’d felt earlier and more out of a fight-or-flight sense of self-preservation.

“How many?” he asked.

“How many times have I come…?”

“How many _boys_ , Granger.”

“Three,” she replied, trying to fight to keep her voice above a whisper.

“Who?”

“Well, you just heard all about McLaggen.”

He scoffed. “Yes. I should hex him.”

She couldn’t help it, Hermione laughed. “I’d like to to hex him for insulting me, too. In fact, that’s why we’re hiding on this rooftop. To keep him from getting hexed.”

“That’s _not_ why we’re up here…”

“Oh?” She grinned, slipping back into the role she felt more comfortable being around Malfoy. She liked this side of him--it was snooty and pompous, but it was a shadow of the edge he’d held in their adolescence. It was sort of fun, riling him up. He played along so easily. “And here I thought it was to give me my birthday present. Don’t tell me you forgot it was my birthday.”

“And how could I with all the _Prophet_ reminders and the Ministry invitation to your party.”

She laughed and he flicked her party hat. She’d take it off, because it really was uncomfortable, but she enjoyed watching him sniff in annoyance at its presence.

“So, McLaggen?”

She sighed. “Are we really back to this?”

“We’ll start flirting again in a minute, promise.”

Hermione stared at him, silence settling around them except for the occasional gust of wind. Finally, she sighed and explained, “It wasn’t serious. We got drinks in Muggle London once and he… he fingered me in the alley against the bar. He wanted more, I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I certainly didn’t want my first time to be drunk on a sidestreet. He didn’t want to wait--the end.”

Malfoy looked furious.

“And then, I’m sure you know there was Ron.”

“Ah, yes. _Weasley_.” He sneered. “It surprised me that you two never shagged.”

“We were young, our getting together was a tad complicated, and then there was a war,” she said casually. “It got in the way of things. But we’re friends now, so it’s all in the past.”

“And? What other lucky bloke has slipped their fingers inside your knickers and heard you moan, Granger? Krum?”

“No. We were kids--he just… We kissed a couple times. It wasn’t serious.”

He hummed, and she could see his brows narrow above his grey eyes.

“There was a Healer I met volunteering at Saint Mungo’s. We dated for a couple months.”

“And he got you off?” His voice was low, his hands slipping into his pockets and he leaned forward slightly.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t do anything… more?”

“No,” she whispered.

He still looked angry. She could see the tension around his mouth and in his shoulders, the burning in his eyes.

“You’re mad,” she said. She wasn’t sure she’d seen him so angry. Not in ages. This was a glare he wore often in adolescence, but it looked fiercer on his adult features. She knew it wasn’t because she was untouched; Malfoy wasn’t that juvenile. But she suspected this was all a distraction born from his fury at Cormac's earlier insult. She touched his cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay. McLaggen’s a dick. He shouldn’t have said that about me, certainly not at my work birthday party… And yes, he probably deserves a hex. But honestly, I’d rather be up here with you then down there with a bunch of acquaintances who don’t really give a shit about me.”

At this, his eyes snapped to hers. “And you think I give a shit about you?”

His hands were still in his pockets. He wasn’t touching her in any way, but she could feel him. It didn’t help that he was so _tall_. Hermione lifted her chin, and she wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from her face.

“I-- I don’t know. But even though I find you maddening and insufferable and _God,_ you are such a prat… I like being around you. It’s kind of fun.”

He took another step toward her, his anger slipping into a smirk. She took a step back, but the roof’s ledge was close. Everything in her mental arsenal protested at her current position’s disadvantage, but if she stopped backtracking… Hermione bit her lower lip, breath hitching as the action drew Malfoy’s attention to her mouth.

“Oh Granger, if you knew how many hours I’ve spent thinking about you--this--these past few days…”

She would’ve snorted. If she weren’t suddenly having trouble breathing.

“You’ve got such a pretty mouth. It’s so nice to see it not prattling off answers in class, or insulting me and my character for a change.” He reached out a hand, his thumb tracing over her bottom lip. His fingers were warm, and she burned for his touch. Everywhere.

“You’re blushing,” he continued, his eyes moving from her lips to her neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she replied, honestly.

“And what do you want me to do?” he asked, the pad of his thumb moving from her lower lip to sweep across her cheek before tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“I want you to make me come.” Her words made her flush deepen, but she was so beyond caring.

His thumb stilled, his entire body seemed to pause for a moment before his forehead rested against her, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Merlin, Granger.”

She stifled a laugh. “That _is_ why you invited me up here, right?”

His eyes opened, amusement dancing in the pools of grey. “You invited me up here.”

She opened her mouth to protest, before frowning. “Oh. I did then, didn’t I? Well, if it’s too much--”

His mouth closed over hers, and she squeaked. He only gave her a moment to recover before he deepened the kiss--nibbling on her lower lip, sucking it between his teeth and tugging gently.

When she gripped his shoulders after he kissed the corner of her mouth, he smirked against her. When she let out a soft, breathy moan as he bit her lower lip, he repeated the action, slower this time.

Hermione parted her lips and kissed him back, her fingers moving over his tight, rigid abdominal muscles. Tracing her hands up the planes of his chest, fingers brushing over scars left behind from the lacerations of the sectumsempra curse, and fucking _finally_ getting a proper sample of his shoulders before sighing against his mouth.

Then, she moved both of her hands to sink into his hair. It was as soft as she imagined, softer maybe. Definitely better than her fantasies.

While Malfoy’s hands had initially stayed bracketed on her waist, content to let her explore, he eventually moved his own hands down over her hips, squeezing her arse before cursing against her mouth.

Hermione laughed as they pulled away, panting and breathless. She clung to his shoulders while he stared into her eyes, one finger hooked around the neckline of her blouse, running up and down the fabric, toying with her sanity.

His long finger yanked the fabric down just enough to see the barest hint of lace beneath.

Then he had her against the wall near the locked door that led downstairs to all of the thankfully oblivious Ministry employees. He pressed himself against her, spreading her legs with a knee so that one of his hands could slide between them.

“Merlin your skin is smooth,” he praised, running a hand against her inner thigh. Her pencil skirt rode up her legs and she stretched on her toes, her heels not lending enough height to be as tall as Draco Malfoy.

It was with excruciating slowness that he traced little circles against the skin of her thigh. He kissed her neck, her cheek, her temple, before finally making it back to her mouth again. Hermione found herself kissing him back, pressing her body against his, her hands grasping and twisting at the stiff fabric of his Oxford.

While he kissed her, his fingers dipped forward, leaving her arse to find the covered slit between her legs.

One of his long fingers brushed against her swollen folds, and she gasped against his mouth. He noticed, the obnoxious prat, because he pulled away to smirk at her. Then his free hand was in her hair, fingers winding roughly into her curls as he forced her head to one side, granting himself a better angle to scrape his teeth down the length of her throat, his fingers moving the same slow path over her knickers.

“Malfoy,” she panted, not sure what she was trying to articulate.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No.”

She gasped at the feel of his fingers working her, and she squirmed against his hand, trying to clamp her legs shut, to provide pressure, to provide _something_. He dropped the hand in her hair to place it against her navel to keep her from moving, but it only intensified the pressure that was building inside of her and she writhed against him.

He chuckled and kissed her again, slowly this time, and she wondered if he could feel the way she shook, aching for his touch.

She was throbbing for it. He ran his finger across her folds, skating against her clit, before cupping her arse firmly.

“This fucking arse, Granger…” He sounded desperate. Hermione panted. _Good_ . That made two of them. 

She was writhing still, her legs trembling while her hips automatically wiggled in a fruitless attempt to increase the pressure of his touch. Squirming, she could feel the dampness of her knickers under his hand.

“Merlin, you’re so fucking wet,” he breathed against her throat.

She moaned something incoherent in response as her fingers sought for purchase in his hair. The silky blond strands fell across his forehead, and she wanted to curse him for how he didn’t look a mess. Instead he somehow managed to look even more fucking sexy than he already was...

Then Malfoy stepped back and she whimpered at the loss of contact. It was suddenly cold with her back against the wall and the breeze from the rooftop on her bare thighs.

Malfoy grinned as he appraised her, leant back and panting for him, and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and tugged them down, gently, all the way to the ground, kissing her thighs and knees and calf before helping her step out of them.

Before she could protest, Malfoy tucked her knickers into the pocket of his trousers. She noticed there was a bulge where her knickers were and another bulge entirely… She glanced up to meet his eyes.

“Can’t wait to taste you…” he whispered against her thigh, derailing her thoughts before he was standing again.

Without the barrier of cotton in the way, Hermione could feel the warmth from the tips of the two fingers he teased her flesh with. Her thighs trembled as he slid one finger inside her folds. It was too much and it wasn’t nearly enough all at once. She grasped his shoulders, lips parting, and he sunk a second finger into her heat, cursing as she clenched around him.

With two fingers moving in and out of her cunt, he used his thumb to stroke her clit--slow, torturous circles that made her press against him, begging for more. More contact, more pressure, more of him…

Everything was building up until she felt like she was going to burst from it all. She felt her orgasm building, her knees shaking with anticipation that when she came it would be wholly out of her own control.

“Malfoy…”

“You feel good... So perfect-- So wet for me…”

Her body shook as she cried out in a loud pathetic whimper. His thumb swirled her clit, the bundle of nerves making her toes curl in her heels.

Malfoy’s breath was against her ear, his fingers pulling out so that she was empty inside. She whimpered, but then his index finger was working her clit and she groaned his name, hardly recognizing the voice as her own.

“I want to watch your face when you come undone,” he told her. “Don’t hold it in, Granger. I want to see you.”

Then his long, deft fingers were back inside, curling against her walls as his lips pressed hot, open mouth kisses down her throat.

His fingers thrust once, twice--she mewled that she was close, so fucking close--and a third time before she came so hard that if Malfoy hadn’t been holding her weight up to the wall she would have crumpled at his feet.

She rode his fingers as he groaned against her temple. Stars burst behind her eyelids, her hips jerking against his hand.

“Fuck-- Malfoy-- Draco… Draco!”  
  
He watched her ride out her orgasm, brushing curls from her face as he whispered, “Gorgeous. You’re so fucking sexy-- Granger… _Fuck_.”

Still fluttering softly around his finger, she opened her eyes to find his own pupils blown wide. His gaze was hot, nearly as hot as her skin felt, and Hermione squeezed his shoulder as he withdrew his hand.

Her legs and abdominal muscles were trembling with fatigue, but she could feel Malfoy’s cock hard against her stomach, and despite her pounding heart and boneless legs, she wanted more.

When Malfoy stepped away, she straightened her skirt. It was then that Hermione realized she was still wearing the paper birthday hat; she could feel it slightly askew from when Malfoy had grasped her curls. She flushed.

Extending his elbow to her, like he hadn’t just wrenched an earth-shattering orgasm from her, he asked, “Well, shall we return?”

“Malfoy… I can’t go back to my party _now_. I don’t have any knickers on!”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He patted his pocket, his shit-eating grin never faltering. “And I will thoroughly enjoy watching you walk around down there, greeting your coworkers with your bare arse--” he squeezed it through the fabric of her skirt, groaning in her neck. “Fuck, Granger, this arse…”

“Malfoy. Can’t I…” She bit her lip, her hands quickly tucking her blouse back into her skirt to give her shaking hands something to do. “Don’t you want--? I should get you off, too.”

“Aw, Granger, it’s your birthday.” He kissed the crown of her head, not looking put off as he tucked himself into the waistband of his trousers. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Celebrating my birthday with Gin and Harry.”

He made a face. “Tomorrow morning, then? Any plans?”

“No. Nothing.” She almost winced by the note of eagerness in her voice. Her hands smoothed over her clothing. She felt slick and bare beneath her skirt.

“Let’s have coffee. I’ll owl you.”

She watched him walk toward the door, her knickers in his pocket, his cock still hard. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she’d ever came so ardently before. And as he held open the door for her, she found herself already looking forward to the morning.

…..

Later that evening, sat at the Leaky at a low-lit table with Ginny, Hermione smiled at her friend. She’d gone home after her work party to clean up and put on a pair of knickers and a dress, but she’d spent the remainder of her time at the Ministry buzzing with the fact that Draco Malfoy was walking around with her knickers in his pocket and the knowledge of how she sounded as she came in his head.

Shaking her head, Hermione craned her neck to watch Harry lean against the bar to purchase a trio of drinks. Unsurprisingly, he was immediately waited upon--one of the many perks of being the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice.

With her boyfriend out of earshot, Ginny leaned in and grinned. “So, did Malfoy get you a birthday present, at least?”

A rather lovely orgasm, Hermione thought. She hadn’t said it out loud, but Ginny’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

“It wasn't-- We didn’t--” Hermione chewed on her lower lip. “We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow.”

Ginny grinned like her friend had said something far more compromising.

“Then let’s not get you too sloshed tonight. You need to be in top-performance shape. I’ll bet Malfoy’s skilled with his tongue. Merlin knows the kind of exercise it’s gotten, talking on and on about himself.”

Hermione blinked. She wouldn’t know about his tongue, but his fingers… She nearly sighed there at the table with Ginny watching on. Gods, she’d probably dream about his fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to ramsitter for proofing this chapter. Her suggestions are the BEST, and anyone who agrees to proof my smut without complaint is amazing in my book. Wooo.
> 
> I am having so much fun writing this story. I hope it shows? :P

The second he entered the muggle coffee shop, it was a complete assault to his senses. The music was quiet, but the splattering of patrons tapping incessantly at muggle computers and holding too-loud conversations around small, cramped tables was maddening. It was  _ warm _ . He loosened his tie, feeling overdressed for coffee on a Saturday morning, but he’d been raised to be  _ over _ dressed, never underdressed, and that wasn’t going to change just because the coffee shop he’d chosen for his meeting with Granger wasn’t up to his usual standards.

The scent of coffee was strong, and just as he was considering calling this off--it was too small, too cramped, too cliche--the door opened and he turned to watch as Hermione Granger stepped inside. Her hair was down and her dress was as blue as his balls.

Draco grinned. “Good morning.”

She smiled at him, pink cheeks he suspected had less to do with the cold and more with her memory of their last interaction. “Morning, Malfoy.”

“Grab us a table while I order. What would you like?”

“A peppermint latte, please. Extra whip.”

His nose wrinkled, but he wasn’t as well-versed in muggle coffee as she was, so he ordered two peppermint lattes, both with extra whip, and carried them over to the squat table pushed against the window she’d secured for them.

It was cooler near the glass at least.

He set one of the fat mugs in front of Hermione.

“Here’s your coffee. My treat, of course, but you have to tip your charming, handsome waiter.”

Wide, brown eyes flashed around the shop, a grin tugging at her lips. “Charming, handsome waiter? Do I get one of those?”

He glowered as he draped himself across the empty chair. It was rickety, one leg shorter than the other. Or perhaps the floorboards were uneven… He hated this place.

Across the table, Hermione lifted her mug to her mouth, blowing gently across the surface of the liquid, steam wafting from the mug to warm her cheeks.

Draco frowned down at his own cup. He couldn’t even see the espresso through the fat dollop of cream on top.

“So,” he began, “Did you have a nice birthday?”

To her credit, she barely flushed. “I did. My work party was… interesting. And then Gin and Harry took me out for dinner and drinks.”

He hummed, taking a sip. The latte was… pleasant, actually. Sweet and rich with warm hints of peppermint and cocoa.

“Of course, I had to go home and put on some knickers before we went out…” She glared at him. “But Harry gave me a book on practical uses for honeywater, and Gin got me a first edition set of my favorite Muggle series--” She set her mug down on the table with a  _ tunk _ . As she spoke, she swiped some of the whipped cream with the tip of her finger, popped the digit in her mouth, and pulled it out, slowly, between her puckered lips.

Draco was positive his balls were going to explode.

Granger kept prattling on, like sucking whipped cream off her finger wasn’t the single most erotic thing he’d ever seen. “--and before you tease, yes, I only received books for my birthday, but that’s all I wanted.”   
  
He crossed his arms on the surface of the table, latte forgotten. “That’s not  _ all  _ you received. Or have you forgotten already?”   
  
She bit her lip. “Was that my present?”   
  
“Did you enjoy it?” He lifted a pale brow, biting back a smirk as he watched the emotions play across her features.   
  
Finally, she settled with a scowl and a defeated sigh and a, “Yes. I suppose it was good enough.”   
  
“ _ Good enough _ ?! Now, Granger, it was my first go with you, and we were standing on a rooftop, but surely you--”

“Yes, yes. Fine. It was very good, Malfoy. Remarkable. Are you pleased?”

“Very.” He grinned, showing nearly all his teeth, before grabbing his latte to take another sip.

When their mugs were empty and conversation lulled, Hermione leveled her gaze on him. Her teeth chewed on her plump, lower lip. He wanted to run the pad of his thumb over her lips. Or bite them. He didn’t much care which.

But he could see the wheels of her brilliant brain turning behind her clear, brown eyes, and Draco fought the urge to sigh. “What is it?”   
  
Her lips pursed. “So you finger me at my birthday party, invite me for coffee, and then…?”

Draco studied her for a moment. Her hands were wrapped around the mug, almost clutching the porcelain as if it could ground her.   
  
“Would you like to come back to my place?”   
  
Her eyes widened, clearly surprised by his words.   
  
“I find it’s best if we’re open with one another. Communication is key, afterall, and we’re both consenting adults. I want to make you come again, Granger, and if you have no objections…”   
  
“I don’t.”   
  
His lips flexed to a grin. “Good. Let’s go back to my flat. I have a very impressive library, and if I can pull you away from that for long enough…”   
  
Her brown eyes were wide. A single curl fell over her ear, brushing her cheek, and his fingers itched to tuck it away.   
  
“You’re being very gentlemanly about all of this.”   
  
“You keep saying that like you’re surprised.”   
  
She looked guilty, fingers tightening around her mug. “Yes. I thought you’d tease me. Humiliate me a bit.”   
  
“I’m not the same prat I was in school, Granger. And even if you had approached me back then, I wouldn’t have said no.” He might’ve humiliated her a bit, sure, but he definitely would’ve leapt at the first opportunity to get under her skirt.

She bit her lip. “Okay. Then your place.”

They left their mugs at the table and side-alonged to his. Draco watched her walk around the tidy living space, watched her eyes widen at the impressive views of muggle London the glass-faced high rise afforded him.

It wasn’t as spacious or luxurious as the Manor, of course, but it was nice enough. Sleek and modern with a view his ministry salary alone could’ve never afforded.

Hermione was watching him expectantly, and he sighed. “Yes, yes. The library… This way.”

Draco watched the way she circled his office, eyes trailing over well-worn spines of books crowding the shelves spanning three of the four walls in the room. He’d arranged the books by genre, and he knew it held an impressive collection, but he couldn’t help the tightening of his shoulders as he waited for Hermione Granger’s approval.   
  
She looked impressed, at least, as she glanced over her shoulder.

“May I…?”

“Have at it,” he replied, voice as casual as he could muster. He’d never been  _ nervous  _ before about showing a girl his library of all things, but he couldn’t help but straighten and clear his throat. “This is just my personal collection. The library at the Manor is, of course, one of the best in the country.”

“Yes,” she replied, her attention on the book of counter-potions she was flipping through. “I’ve heard the library at Malfoy Manor boasts one of the most impressive private collections in Britain. More first editions and private journals than nearly any place else in existence. Not that I’d expect anything but the best from the Malfoys.”

He grinned and she froze. Her eyes snapped across the room to meet his.

“That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.” Her jaw shifted, and she reshelved the book. “I just mean because you’re so posh. Intent on showing off how very rich you are.”

“I wouldn’t dare mistake your sarcasm for anything but, Granger.” He took a step toward her, watching as she drifted from potions to the section on ancient runes. “The Malfoy library has centuries of history. If you can figure out how to compliment me sincerely, maybe one day I’ll take you there.”

She laughed. “So. Do you always bring girls back to your flat at ten in the morning to show off your books?”

“No,” he grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “This is a first.”

“Good. Sort of evens things out between us.”

“Do you expect more firsts from me, Granger?”

She stared up at him through her lashes. Her hands now free of his books, she ran her palms over the skirt of her dress, the blue fabric settling just above her knees.

She had lovely legs, all the way up to her arse…

Draco grinned, making sure his intentions were clear as he studied her--dropping his gaze from the hem of her skirt, down the length of her legs. Here in his office hadn’t been what he’d intended, but there was a perfectly good desk and the thought of taking Hermione Granger on it made him ashamedly hard.

“We can stop this at any time. You know that, right, Granger?” he asked.

She brought a fist to her chest, and Draco continued, “If you feel uncomfortable, or want to change your mind--”

“Same for you.” She straightened her posture, trying very hard to look in control. “I was awake for almost an hour last night worrying that I was pressuring you into this.”

“I can stop anytime I want.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

His office wasn’t particularly large, and it only took four steps before she was standing before him. Draco’s eyes widened as her fingers reached out and grasped his tie, yanking it gently to tug him toward her.

Draco wasn’t sure when he’d stop being surprised by her boldness. She was a plethora of contradiction--soft and strong, kind and fierce, brilliant and idiotic, a  _ virgin  _ and bold enough to ask him to change that.

Their lips met and her hands grasped at his shirt. When he trailed kisses down her neck, she gasped, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling.

Granger made quick work of his blazer, shoving it off his shoulders and to the floor. Then her fingers were yanking at his shirt’s buttons, groaning to find a white undershirt.

“So many layers…” she complained, and Draco laughed as he unclasped the cuffs of his dress shirt, shucked it to the floor, and then tugged his undershirt up over his head, quickly, before adding it to the pile of his clothing on the ground.

He was shirtless and smirking, watching the way Granger’s Firewhiskey eyes took in the sight, her gaze shifting from his shoulders all the way down to his slacks. With a crooked finger, he tipped her chin toward him and kissed her hard on the mouth.

She’d worn flats and he had to bend his head to kiss her properly, and she melted into his touch, her teeth nipping his lower lip.

He kissed her back, hands cupping her face, mouth greedy as his tongue snuck between her teeth--stealing her breath with a gasp--only stopping at the feel of her shaky fingers at the waistband of his trousers.

His hands grasped her wrists.

He’d wanted her before--the thought of humiliating her, breaking her down and tearing off her clothes had made him hard back in school. But now… Well, he was pompous and conceited and a horrible flirt, sure, but he was… decent.

Draco kissed her temple. “Slow down, Granger.”

Her eyes were wide and horrified as they met his. Her cheeks were pink. “Am I… Is this not good?”

A chuckle tore from his throat. “You’re perfect.  _ This  _ is perfect. I just… One thing at a time.”

She nodded, once, and he lifted her up, placing her on the edge of his desk. She scooted back, knees pressed together and hands behind her hips.

“Relax,” Draco commanded.

As though coaxed by his word, she relaxed her knees. Her eyes never left his.

She’d confessed to coming to thoughts of him pressed against the castle wall back at Hogwarts. He wondered if she’d fantasized about them being on a desk, too.

“What?” she asked, brows rising. “You’re smiling.”

“You’re spread for me on my desk, Granger,” he intoned, moving closer and never breaking eye contact. Her blue skirt fell around her waist, bunching up due to the position of her knees. Beneath her dress he could see her knickers—pale pink lace.

His fingers twitched.

Draco kissed her again, with reverent carefulness, he unzipped the back of her dress and shoved it down her shoulders. Her bra was also pale pink lace, a matching set, and he kissed her shoulder.

Her cheeks flushed and knees spread for him, Hermione Granger was impossibly lovely…

He wanted to fuck her, but he also wanted her to remember this,  _ him _ . She’d made it 28 years with her virginity intact, he could give her a couple orgasms that had her begging for more…

Draco kissed down her throat, grinning as she moaned and dropped her head to one side. Trailing his mouth over her collarbones--she had lovely collarbones, her curls falling over them--he kissed the space between her breasts, hand skimming over her waist, clutching at blue fabric, moving up to tug at her bra.

With the lace shoved down to reveal one of her breasts, Draco sucked her nipple into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingers, pinching it gently through the pink lace just enough to make her squirm.

His hands skimmed down from her breasts to grasp her hips, fingers kneading the soft curve of her hip. She was slender and soft. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, planting kisses over the underside of her breast, down the flat plane of her stomach, and nipping the skin around her navel.

She bucked her hips as he planted kisses from the inside of her knee to her thigh; he could tell by her fumbling hands and the jerk of her hips that she was itching for contact.

He exhaled over her slim thigh and Granger groaned something that sounded only a bit like his name.

Then, his grey eyes flashing up to see her eyes still watching him, he planted a kiss on her clothed core. He could feel the damp lace against his mouth; he couldn’t wait to taste her.

“Remember. You can tell me to stop.”

She frowned at him. “I’m not going to tell you to stop! Malfoy,  _ please _ ...”

He chuckled, her words more than enough for him to continue, and pressed another kiss against the lace, sliding his tongue along her slit, smirking as she moaned and writhed against him.

He kissed her knee as he tugged her knickers down her thighs, marvelling at the fact that the Brightest Witch of their bloody Age was spread across his desk, bared and panting for him.

“Malfoy, please,” she begged.

With another exhale, he leaned in--tongue darting out to lap slowly at her swollen bud. His cock twitched in his trousers, but he wanted to take his time with her.

“M-Malfoy,” she stuttered, as he trailed his mouth down to take an agonizingly slow lick up her slit and then back again. He circled the bud with his tongue, taking care to suck when her entire body shuddered against his mouth.

She was gasping, talking, moaning as her knees flexed near his head, and Draco continued to nip and lick and suck, delving his tongue inside as his fingers moved to trace her clit.

When he dipped a finger inside, his mouth sucking at her swollen bud, he listened to her voice crack as she panted his name. Always a perfectionist, he’d been the sort of bloke who’d sooner not do something at all if he wasn’t going to do it right. He’d never seen the point in doing something if there wasn’t a chance he was going to be the best.

And there with Hermione Granger’s hands grasping his hair as he sucked her clit and fucked her cunt with his tongue, he wanted it to be her best.

He’d never wanted anything more.

So he took his time, learning what made her gasp, becoming a quick study in giving her pleasure. Draco wanted Granger to know the benefits of having a perfectionist between her thighs.

When her breath hitched again, Draco curled his finger inward to find the bundle of nerves on her front wall, the exact spot that would make her--

“Hnnng-- Malfoy!” she screamed, body jumping and jerking with each thrust of his fingers, each swirl of his tongue.

“I’m so… I’m so close…”

He eased his hands beneath her arse and held her to his mouth. His erection hurt--  _ fuck _ he was hard. Couldn’t remember every being so hard in his life. But he wanted to have her like this, squirming, breathless, hands tugging eagerly as they grasped his hair.

“Scream for me, Granger,” he rasped against her clit. “I want to hear you come.”

“Yes, yes. Malfoy, yes,” she breathed, over and over again, as her knees shook. His eyes locked on her, watching her face as she came apart. He could feel her jerk, pulling away and pushing back against his mouth, could feel her walls clench around his finger. Spasming around him as she came. 

She was gorgeous. Draco leaned back on his heels and watched her catch her breath. A light sheen of sweat coated her brow, and when she opened her eyes she smiled dazedly at him.

“I’d get off your desk but…” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure I can stand.”

He smirked and kissed her, making her taste herself on his tongue.

“That was--” She blinked, grasping his shoulder. “You are--”

He tipped his forward against hers, eyes bearing into her as she struggled to compliment him.

“Tell me Granger. I live for praise.”

She laughed. “Okay. I’ll tell you how amazing that was. But only because you said if I complimented you sincerely, you’d show me the Malfoy library…”

“Bloody witch.” His voice was exasperated, but he couldn’t quite fight the smile from tugging at his features. “Doomed to always put me second to a library…”

“A close second.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “A very close second.”

  
  
  


……..

Later that day, he felt light. Draco wondered if he’d ever been quicker on his broom as he tore around the public Quidditch pitch at the park.

A few friends and acquaintances and old enemies from his school days met for pickup matches at the park on weekends.Even as he zipped around on his broom, eyes seeking out the snitch, his mind couldn’t manage to stray far from the memory of Granger coming on his desk.

He spotted a streak from the corner of his eye, and ignoring the bustle of his teammates below, he let his reflexes take over, steering him to the flash of gold.

It was good his reflexes were capable of taking over. Points were scored from somewhere below, the benches broke into a chorus of cheers, but all Draco could think of was how he knew how Granger felt fluttering beneath him.

His team hadn’t won, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of victory from his shoulders.

There was a small locker room next to the pitch, and as he towelled off his damp hair and listened to Harry  _ fucking  _ Potter chatter beside him on the bench, Draco wondered if he could place the exact moment where his life had taken this turn.   
  
Because he couldn’t remember a time when he’d have a pickup match of Quidditch with Potter and then chat about pumpkin pasties and the latest Ministry gossip and--

“Shit,” Potter swore. And reflexively, Draco glanced over at that morning’s  _ Prophet  _ Potter had opened _.  _ The moving image made him roll his eyes. There was Weasley grinning dopely as he slung a clunky arm around a smiling brunette.

“Didn’t think Skeeter would announce their engagement so soon…” Potter was mumbling. For the millionth time that afternoon, Draco’s mind flashed to Granger.

She was fine, he assured himself. Just this morning she’d been a shaking, babbling mess as she came undone on his desk. Thanks to him, she was  _ more  _ than fine.

Draco did, however, wonder if Weasley getting married had anything to do with her sudden quest to rid herself of her virginity.

Not that her  _ reason  _ mattered to him, of course. Who was he to stand in the way of a pretty witch getting what she wanted?

He watched the photo loop again, his jaw tight. Granted, she’d always been  _ leagues  _ above the weasel, anyway.

Potter folded the paper quietly, nothing betraying his features, and Draco heard himself voicing the words before he’d fully decided on saying them aloud, “What’s Granger up to today?”

Potter shrugged. “Ginny mentioned she was on the quest for a book. Got a giftcard to Flourish and Blotts for her birthday that she couldn’t go a day without spending.”

He stuffed his Quidditch kit into the depths of his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, and apparated in front of the bookstore without so much as a farewell to Potter.

But people not licking his boots was good for The-Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Die in his opinion. It might build some character. Merlin knew Draco had  _ that _ in spades…

It didn’t take long to spot her inside the shop. Her hair was down, and he was struck with the knowledge that he knew what her hair felt like. The silkiness of her curls, the scent of honey and vanilla and parchment.

When she turned, he could tell she’d spotted him immediately given how quickly she’d frowned.

“Stalking me now, are you?” she asked, one of her brows lifting as her eyes moved from his face to the top of his head. “Your hair’s wet.”

“I just got out of the shower.”

Hermione shifted the weight of the stack of books she had piled in her arms. “And had the sudden urge to browse for books?”

“Potter said you’d be here.”

Surprise lit her features. “Asking my friends about my whereabouts?”

“We had a Quidditch pickup match. We were chatting after.”

“Look at you!” she laughed. “A team player.”

He feigned offence as he closed the distance between them. He could see her better up close. She was still wearing the same blue dress from that morning, the one that had lifted so easily… He wondered if she’d changed her knickers, if she were still slick…

“There’s another pickup match tomorrow. Come along with the she-weasel after brunch.”

She laughed, and when he stared back at her, she gave an innocently timed blink. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“You don’t like Quidditch.” It was phrased like a question, but held none of its inflection.

“No.” She shook her head, books still stacked high in her arms. “I don't. And I spend  _ so  _ much of my time at Ginny’s games these days. Spent so much of my life listening to Harry and Ron blab on and on about it. Not you, too…”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

For some reason, that single word made her mouth pop open. He hadn’t fought her, sure, but he didn’t think that should’ve come as much of a surprise.

“You never push me,” she said, voice quiet, as though they’d shared the same thought.

“You know I’m the patient sort.”

“You aren’t though.” She laughed. “You’re the least patient person I’ve ever known. I remember you stomping your feet if you didn’t get something you wanted, the second you wanted it.”

He sighed, feigning dramatics. He was going to have to spell this out for her…

“I’d think by now that you of all people should know how very patient I can be. Even if it’s difficult, I can savor it. Good things come to those who wait, Granger.”

She huffed. “And has it been hard?”

“So, so hard…”

Her brown eyes rolled, and then she was shifting the books in her arms, buying herself time to speak. Without a word, Draco held out his arms and she frowned at him. After a long moment, she passed the stack of books over and bit her lip.

“Okay, fine. Yes. You’ve been very patient. Surprisingly accommodating and long-suffering, certainly you’ve gone out of your way on my behalf...” She squinted at him, like he was a line in a book she was trying to make sense of. “And you’ve now gotten me off twice for reasons I still don’t entirely understand…”

He huffed. She was awfully dense for a person so bright.

Granger nodded, mind made up. “What color is your team?”

“It’s pickup, Granger. We decide the colors once we split up.”

She squinted at him. “Okay. But what color do I wear for you?”

“Green.”

She rolled her eyes. “Naturally.”

He took another step toward her, and even though they were in the center of the bookstore, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her ear, smirking at the shudder that raced down her spine.

“You taste lovely, Granger,” he said, voice low as his mouth teased her right ear. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.”

When he pulled away, her eyes were wide. But she didn’t tear her eyes from him, gently biting her bottom lip before allowing it to plump back outward, wet with moisture from her teeth.  _ Merlin _ her lips... 

“Good.” He nodded, taking another step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And Granger?”

“Mm?” she squeaked.  _ Cute _ .

“Don’t make plans for after the match. I want you all to myself.”

He could see her throat working as she swallowed, her lashes fluttering at the promise of  _ after _ . It was somewhat of a relief to know he wasn’t the only one being an absolute idiot about this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, so much thanks to ramsitter for reading this chapter. She's at like 20k of silliness and smut, and I couldn't be more grateful!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the kudos and comments. I'm a fandom newbie and the Dramione space is HUGE and intimidating, so I'm immensely grateful for all the kind words.

At a table set for four, Hermione watched her friends move around one another in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry opened the oven and pulled out a pie. His hands were stuffed inside a pair of Holyhead Harpies oven mitts.

At his side, Ginny poured drinks and chatted over her shoulder about the new dining table they’d purchased. Hermione sipped her wine and stared at said table to hide her smile. Ginny had moved out of their shared flat four months ago, and in that short time living with Harry the couple had become quite domestic.

In the center of the new table, a flame danced in a tea jar making the entire room smell like lemon cake.

The wine was good, the company amusing, but still… Hermione felt frustrated.

_ Sexually _ .

“Are you blushing, Hermione?” Harry asked, plucking the mitts from his hands and frowning at her.

“Oh, no. I’m fine.”

Before he could object, Theo flooed in. He wore a magenta dress shirt and a dashing grin, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a manner he’d once confessed to Hermione took ages to style to accomplish the just-woke-up-like-this look he was so known for.

“We’re having pie,” Hermione greeted.

He hummed and slid into one of the empty chairs, his eyes smiling as they moved across her features.

Hermione straightened. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just had an interesting conversation last night with Draco and Blaise.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray any of her emotions--curiosity and panic amongst them.

“Yes. Our boy Draco is completely tight-lipped when it comes to what’s going on between him and the Golden Girl, unfortunately.” Theo’s eyes shone with amusement. “But I figure you’d tell. Since we’re such good friends.”

“Such,” Hermione replied. Instead of humoring him, she took a sip of wine.

Ginny sat at her side, holding the bottle of wine and a pair of empty glasses. 

“What’re we talking about?” she asked, pouring wine into the two glasses and passing one over to Theo.

He grinned. “I tried so hard last night to get Draco to confess what was going on between him and Hermione, and he wouldn’t crack.”

“And you think Hermione will?”

Theo shrugged. “Easier than Draco, I think.”

Hermione sighed. “Okay. Fine.” If there was anyone she could talk to, it was Ginny and Theo. Harry was standing in the kitchen still, busying himself with slicing pie. He was one of her closest friends, too, but she  _ really  _ didn’t want to get his advice regarding her sex life.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione confessed, “Remember how I told you at brunch that I was getting Malfoy’s help regarding a problem?”

Theo and Ginny nodded.

“Well, I’d gotten drunk. Very drunk. Like… far too drunk--”

“Yes, yes. We get it, you were sloshed,” Theo interrupted. “Get to the point.”

Hermione exhaled, blowing some of her hair out of her face. “Well, because I was so splendidly plastered, when Malfoy approached me with that stupid grin of his--”

“You think he’s fit,” Ginny laughed into her wine glass. Hermione glared.

“--he asked me how long it’d been since I’d had a shag, and I told him nearly twenty-eight years--”

Ginny hooted. Theo bit his lip.

“--and I started blabbering on and on about how I wanted to have sex but didn’t know how to go about it, and then at some point I was asking him to be my tutor.”

In the kitchen, Harry had gone suspiciously silent.

Ginny raised a brow. “A tutor?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Yes.”

“Like a  _ sex _ tutor? Hermione! Please tell me you didn’t approach sex like it was a subject in school,” Ginny said, and though her words had bite, there was amusement pulling at her features.

Hermione stared at the surface of her wine. “Maybe…”

Theo howled with laughter. “Merlin, you haven’t changed.”

“And why of all the blokes did you choose  _ Malfoy  _ to teach you about sex? There would be a slew of willing participants.  _ Nice  _ participants. Malfoy’s…” Ginny struggled for a minute and settled on, “Mean.”

There was a  _ plonk _ , and then Harry was sliding into the last empty seat, his stare fixated on the pie now sat on the table between them. He glanced around at the trio and then shook his head. “I’ll grab plates.”

When he was gone, Ginny leaned forward like she was going to whisper, but her voice didn’t drop a decibel as she asked, “So, have you had sex?!”

“No.”

Theo tilted his head to one side, his impeccably gelled hair moving just slightly. “But you have done some things with Malfoy, then?”

Hermione opened her mouth but Harry was back with a stack of plates. He looked slightly pale.

“Please don’t answer that, Hermione,” Harry mumbled.

His wife clapped her hands together. “Please do.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione stared back at Harry. “I won’t.”

“Ah. I’m assuming he’s gone down on you at least,” Theo said, sipping his wine like this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to be having over rhubarb pie.

Harry’s forehead dropped against the surface of the table. At his side, Ginny nodded like that was a given. Hermione could feel heat climbing up her neck. 

Taking her flush as confirmation, Ginny shrugged. “That’s okay, Hermione. I mean, between us girls--and Theo, I guess--when it comes to giving orgasms, guys are loads  better with their hands and tongues than just their cocks anyway.”

Theo made a face. “Don’t include me in that. Guys can be perfectly capable of giving orgasms with their hands tied and tongues gagged.”

Harry didn’t move from his position with his head against the table, eyes squeezed shut, pie cooling on the table.

Hermione sighed. “But I feel like we’re back in school with all this fingering and oral... Why is he taking things so slowly?! Shouldn’t  _ I  _ be the hesitant one? What’s he holding back for? Why won’t he just shag me already?!”

Ginny snorted. “Maybe he’s taking things slow on your behalf. You’re the one who hasn’t done it yet.”

“But I made it extremely clear that I want to!”

Theo hummed. “You should just tell him. Draco overthinks things almost as much as you. Be direct, so there’s no doubt in his mind that you’re gagging for it.”

“I agree with Theo,” Ginny nodded, “Since he’s done his part, I think the quaffle’s in your hands.”

“The quaffle?” Hermione deadpanned.

“You know… The proverbial relationship ball. Well, you’ve got it, and it’s time you aim for the hoop.”

“I get that you’re trying to talk Quidditch to me, but you’re making zero sense.”

Ginny heaved a sigh. “You need to score, and I think you need to make the first move. Give him no doubt that you want him to shag your brains out.”

“I agree,” Theo added.

Harry groaned, his voice muffled against the surface of the table. “Can we have pie now? Please?”

  
  
  


…..

  
  
  


Hermione sat perched on the edge of the metal stands at the park. The public Quidditch pitch was quite elaborate, though nothing as grand as the stands they’d had back at Hogwarts. To her surprise, there were at least three dozen other people sitting to watch the pick-up match in the park.

Biting her lip, Hermione watched the teams split and one half of the white jerseys were spelled into a brilliant shade of royal blue. Draco had been on the team that had been spelled, and Hermione was struck with how fetching Malfoy looked in blue, perched on his broom.

The snitch quickly zapped towards the sky, glinting in the noon September sun before the gleam was gone and Hermione couldn’t see it at all. Instead, she watched Malfoy cut a path on his broom, arching across the horizon with a brow narrowed in concentration.

Her mind drifted back to Ginny’s Quidditch sex metaphor, and she steeled herself to make the first move.

She could do this. She’d been the one to suggest he tutor her in sex in the first place, after all…

Though she’d tried to concentrate on the match, she did little else but follow Malfoy’s fluid movements in the sky. The way his thighs and knuckles clenched on the broom--she wondered how he’d look riding her. The way his blond hair fell across his forehead--she wondered if it’d be similarly damp with sweat if he pinned her to a bed…

After the match, she waited for him outside of the locker room. He grinned as she approached, and Hermione couldn’t help but gesture to her outfit and say, “See? Green.”

“And you look as lovely as I imagined.”

She laughed, and then gasped when she noticed the spot near his temple where he’d had a small collision during the match.

“That’s going to bruise,” she said softly. Her chilly fingers swept the spot near his temple, pausing before she touched the injury. “May I?”

His grey eyes darkened as he watched her, and as he nodded, she reached for her wand to cast a healing charm.

Once she’d tucked her wand back into her pocket, Hermione bit her lip. “It’s too bad I healed that... A smoother witch would’ve offered to ice it back at her place later.”

One of his brows quirked. “Later?”

“Yeah.” Hermione tried to smile, feeling weighed down by nerves. “Later. At my place. Just the two of us.”

Malfoy lowered his head and whispered, “Don’t talk about later if you don’t mean every…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear and she reached out, clutching the fabric of his still-blue jersey, anchoring herself to him. “...word of it.”

“I do,” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “Every word. Malfoy...”

He pulled back to stare down at her.

“Malfoy. Come back to my place.”

A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “What are we waiting for?”

She threaded her arm through his and apparated them back to her flat.

Hermione glanced around, opening her mouth to ask if he wanted a drink, but then bit her lips together. She didn’t want to drink. She didn’t want to do anything except Draco Malfoy.

“You’re blushing.”

“I have the quaffle, and I’m ready to… ah, score,” she said, and spotting the confused expression on Malfoy’s features, Hermione tried again. “I’d like to have sex with you. Today-- Now. If that’s okay with you.”

He grinned, turning to face her. One of his hands reached up to tuck a curl from her face, fingertips lingering on the shell of her ear.

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice was ragged around the edges. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her gaze for a heartbeat, then he leaned down to cover her mouth with his own.

“I’ve been hard for days, thinking about this. You,” he whispered between kisses.

Hermione lifted onto her toes, her fingers tangling into his hair.

He kissed her jaw, down her throat, pressing kisses against the skin he could find above the conservative collar of her green jersey.

His hands moved from her hips to the hem of the jersey, and Hermione lifted her arms like a child being undressed.

However, she felt more like a woman than she ever had in her life as her shirt dropped to the floor and Malfoy’s heated gaze took in her body in nothing but muggle denims and a black lace bralette.

“ _ Fuck  _ Granger,” he breathed. “You’re gorgeous.”

And then he was kissing her again. His mouth on her collarbones, hands on her bare waist. When his lips pressed against the slight curve of her breast over her bralette, Hermione’s fingers dug into his shoulders.

She was really doing this.  _ They  _ were really doing this.

She dragged her fingers down his shoulders and chest, slipping under his jersey and tracing the lines of his lower abs. While Draco Malfoy wasn’t bulky, he was the sort of slender fit that had Hermione yanking his shirt up over his head and tossing it to the floor.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he whispered against her throat, and Hermione nodded toward the open door behind them.

She squeaked as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked them to her room. She squeaked once more as he dropped her onto the bed. With wide eyes, she stared at him as he unthreaded the button of her denims. He held her gaze as he slipped the zipper down.

“I hate muggle denims,” he told her, his pupils blown wide. His hands pulled them down her thighs, over her knees. His gaze lingered on her black knickers. “But I love what’s underneath…”

Hermione flushed; before she could respond he was kissing her again. His knees bracketed her thighs, his palms pressing against her bed on either side of her face.

She swept her tongue across his and he sucked her lower lip between his teeth, and when he pulled away she was panting.

He kissed her again, moving his hand to dip beneath her knickers. He swept a long finger across her folds, and once they were slick, swirled her clit with a practiced motion. She gasped, squirming beneath him, and it was so much different than their time on the rooftop.

He sucked on her neck before moving the thin fabric of her bralette aside to run his tongue across her nipple.

Hermione wondered if he understood why she’d invited him here. She thought she’d been clear, but she didn’t want him to finger her and stop. She wanted him inside her. Her hips bucked, seeking friction only he could provide.

“More, Malfoy,” she demanded.

He smirked down at her. “You’re so wet already...”

She groaned something even she couldn’t understand as she felt her orgasm building. Building, building, bringing her to the edge--another sweep of his fingers against her clit and she came. Shaking, moaning his name, her fingers digging into his biceps as she fell apart beneath him.

Once her orgasm faded, Hermione opened her eyes to watch Malfoy staring down at her.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and though his gaze was heated, his words were careful.

“Yes.” She nodded, like that might help to convince him, and Draco sucked in a breath before exhaling.

He sat back on his heels and slid his shorts off. Hermione reached down to yank her knickers down her thighs, and beside her bra they were both naked. On her bed.

She'd read enough romance novels and advice columns in  _ Witch Weekly _ to know how this would go. She wasn’t naive enough to romanticize things--there might be blood and it would hurt. The hero in the novels was always a skilled enough lover to ensure the heroine’s pain was quickly overwhelmed by pleasure, but  _ Witch Weekly _ told other stories. Stories where it was all pain and too quick for any real pleasure.

Malfoy knew this was her first time, and the careful way he bent his head and kissed her made her tight muscles relax a fraction.

Hermione reached out a hand and grabbed his cock. Malfoy hissed, abdominal muscles tight as Hermione stroked the length of him. The skin was soft and warm, but he felt wide and too big to fit. She bit her lip, hoping it wouldn’t hurt, reminding herself she’d been crucio-ed, she could do this…

“Relax,” Malfoy said against her temple. When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to relax.”

“Okay,” she replied.

He kissed her again, and supporting his weight with one arm, he used his free hand to cup her breast--his palm testing the weight of her, his thumb brushing her nipple over and over again...

Hermione moaned, her head falling back against the pillow as her body thrummed with anticipation.

Their eyes locked and he guided himself against her entrance. Hermione nodded and he pushed inside her--slowly, gently, letting her get used to the stretch of him. She knew he was only an inch or so in, and she bit her lip. His pupils were blown, his face tight with what looked like restraint, and Hermione nodded again, giving him permission to continue. Urging him not to stop.

He pushed in another few centimeters and stopped, letting out a breath while she held hers. But Hermione exhaled after a moment. There was no tearing, no torturous pain; she just felt really, uncomfortably stretched.

Malfoy pushed in further, slowly, slowly, until Hermione wasn’t sure he could go any deeper. Then he pulled out and re-entered. Hermione realized then that her hands were at her sides, fingers digging into her sheets, and she moved to wrap them around his neck.

“You feel amazing. So--” he groaned, “So tight.  _ Fuck  _ Granger. You’re perfect.”

Hermione closed her eyes as he filled her. It wasn’t so bad now. He pulled back, staring down at her, and then he reached between them to touch her clit. She bit her lip. That was better. This was fine. She was… Oh! This was better than fine. She felt another orgasm building. She gasped as his finger worked her, his cock filled her, and she concentrated on the sensation of it all. She swept her hands over his hard chest, feeling his muscles tighten wherever she touched. There was a little thrill of pleasure as she realized how at his mercy she was. He pushed in again and Hermione moaned. His finger kept pace on her clit and with another gasp she spasmed around him.

Malfoy stilled and cursed against her shoulder.

“You’re so tight, Hermione.” He stared down at her. “Can you take more?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He picked up the pace, pulling out and pushing back into her--again and again and she felt her thighs relax, her hips shift to a new position that had him deeper inside. She gasped at the sensation and then a few more thrusts in that position and he stilled, his eyes closing as he came.

When he pulled out she could feel his warm come sliding out as he did. She felt sore but also inexplicably warm and sated.

“Was that…?” Hermione bit her lip. She hated feeling self-conscious and insecure. “Was I okay?”

Malfoy kissed her shoulder, rolling to lay by her side. His grey eyes danced with amusement as he turned his head to take her in.

“It was very good. Are you alright?”

She rolled onto her side to face him. They hadn’t even turned the lights on in her room, and the slivers of sunlight that cut through her blinds lit a halo of fire in Malfoy’s blond hair.

He was lovely. And he’d been her first.  _ Draco Malfoy _ had been her first. Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud as his arm slid over her waist, his fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of her hip.

“I’m okay.” But that wasn’t quite right. She smiled. “You gave me two orgasms, Malfoy. I’m more than  _ okay _ .”

Sex had been what she’d asked for, of course, but as the sunlight lit his features and his grey eyes moved over her hair and lips and body with what a small part of her hoped was something akin to fondness, she wanted to ask for more. 

But the quaffle was in his hands now. Hermione closed her eyes.  _ Unicorn. Graphorn. Runespoor.  _ It felt like Draco Malfoy was tracing ancient runes on her hip, and she didn’t want this to be their first  _ and  _ last time together… She wanted to do it again. And probably again after that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE thank you to ramsitter for all the suggestions and catching my typos and just being a rock star in the face of chapters that are 4,000 words+ and just Porn with Feelings.
> 
> I'm busy drafting a longer, Voldy-wins war fic, but I promise not to even think about posting it until we're done with this one.
> 
> It's crazypants, because I feel like I'd just dipped a toe into the Dramione word like yesterday, and SOMEHOW we're over halfway through with this fic!!
> 
> Big, big thanks for the comments and kudos. They mean the world to me.

The lift arrived with a cheery  _ ding _ and Hermione stepped inside. It was empty and quiet, and as the doors slid shut she exhaled. Shifting her weight from her left foot to her right, she felt the lift begin its descent. She’d performed a cushioning charm on her heels that morning, but it was nearing seven thirty and after spending the vast majority of the day on her feet, the comfort was wearing thin.

Today had been exhausting. Shuffling papers back and forth between departments, trying to obtain all the signatures and approvals they needed to submit the report for consideration. An emergency meeting had been called, she’d had to force her way through some bureaucratic red tape, and then just as the motion had been pushed through, she’d finally gotten some time at her desk to sort through the litany of other projects that were piling up.

Hermione tipped her head against the back of the lift and squeezed her eyes shut. When the lift stopped, she startled. The doors parted to reveal Draco Malfoy. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers and his face inclined, staring at the numbers above the parting doors.

He moved to enter the lift, and stopped.

“Good evening,” Hermione greeted. She wondered if her face was as flushed as she felt.

A smile curved Malfoy’s features as he stood beside her. Tilting his head to one side, he said, “Working late again, I see.”

“I’m not the only one.”

He hummed. “Got a lead on a case.”

She studied his profile as the lift came to a stop and they stepped out into the Atrium together. There weren’t many other Ministry employees filing out for the day this close to eight o’clock, and Hermione adjusted the strap of her beaded bag.

They’d had sex and she hadn’t seen him since. It wasn’t as though he’d leapt into her floo before his trousers were zipped after they’d shagged. No, there’d been a quick kiss on the cheek and a  _ till next time, Granger  _ whispered against her ear before he departed _. _

That “next time” had made her heartbeat quicken, and even though she’d watched him go with a dopey smile on her features, he hadn’t owled. Hadn’t come by her office or made any attempt to chat with her. Their run-in now wasn’t either of their doing. It was purely coincidence.

Hermione tightened her grip on the purse strap and opened her mouth, but Malfoy spoke first.

“Would you like to go back to my place? I was going to order takeaway.”

She swallowed. “Sure.”

When they flooed back to his, Hermione didn’t spend as long staring out the impressive windows or gaping at the expensive furnishings and sleek kitchen as the last time she’d been here. She couldn’t, however, help glancing into the open doorway to Malfoy’s library. She knew the impressive collection of books inside, just as she knew the wooden desk where he’d gone down on her. She was also intimately familiar with the pattern of the ceiling and the single brass light fixture…

Over takeaway from the sandwich shop below his building, he asked about her day at work and her latest projects with the DRCMC,  even inquiring about some of the details on the legislature she’d spent most of the day tweaking.

When she asked about his work as an auror, he exhaled.

“It was a long day.”

Hermione bit her lip. She understood that there were facets of his job he couldn’t discuss with her, but she also knew more than that Malfoy wasn’t the open, friendly sort. It was in her nature to press, but she took another bite of her sandwich to keep from pushing.

After a long moment, Malfoy sighed. “We got a new case. It isn’t anything particularly high-profile or exciting, but it’s going to be a headache. I spent three hours reading over the same document--feels like I’ve been  _ Crucio _ -ed.”

Then his grey eyes went wide, and he dropped his sandwich onto its wrapper, face twisting as though he were in pain. Hermione lifted a brow as he cursed, “Shit. I’m sorry. That’s not a thing to say…”

Hermione blinked. “Oh.” Rubbing her thumb across the puckered letters of her scar, she tried for an easy smile. “Malfoy, it’s fine. It’s a common expression.”

“Some expressions aren’t right. And I’m sorry.”

She got the impression he wasn’t just talking about her being tortured at his house while he watched on any longer.

“I’m sorry for the words I said in school. Well, mostly the one word, really. But there were others, too,” he said, his deep voice quiet.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I suppose I should thank you, too. For that night in the Manor. You could have identified us, but...”

He made a face. “Please don’t thank me for that.”

“No. It was part of the reason I spoke at your trial. Part of the reason I knew you weren’t…” She swallowed. “I knew you were okay. And then, after your sentence was up, you used your knowledge and experience and became an auror. It’s impressive, Malfoy. Really.”

“Not as impressive as being a war heroine, most would agree.” He picked up a crisp but didn’t bring it to his mouth. She watched his fingers move, watched the almost nervous way his hands fidgeted even as the rest of him remained cool and impassive. “I was a coward. I didn’t save you that night, I just stalled.”

Hermione felt her own hands tighten into a pair of balled fists in her lap.

Draco gave a humorless laugh. “I think we need a drink.”

“Sure.”

He stood and poured a finger of Firewhiskey into a pair of crystal glasses, and when he handed one to Hermione she tried not to snort. Of course he had expensive Firewhiskey and crystal glasses on hand.

Her eyes moved over his perfectly pressed robes and his aristocratic cheekbones, the pallor of skin and the soft strands of blond hair that begged to be pushed back…

“ I know you’re more of a Butterbeer witch.”

She shrugged. “I’m in the market of trying new things.” Taking a sip, she coughed. “But this is awful.”

He chuckled. “Don’t take such a big gulp. Sip it, slowly. It’s a good bottle.”

She stared at her glass and hummed. Their dinners cleared away, Hermione joined him on his sofa, sipping her Firewhiskey until it was empty. Malfoy took her glass and placed it on the metal cocktail table.

When he turned back to face her, Hermione kissed him.  She knew that there was more for them to talk about, but she was happy that he'd been willing to open up as much as he had already. And she hadn't touched him in days. It felt like ages, really.

If he were surprised by her kiss, he hid it well. Almost instantly his hands were in her hair, loosening the bun she’d stuffed her curls into earlier that day.

It was difficult to kiss from this position, so Hermione moved to straddle him. Skirt riding up to mid-thigh, she quickly shucked her black blazer while Malfoy’s hands made quick work of unthreading the buttons of her blouse.

When it opened to reveal her bra, he groaned.

“Have I ever told you you have lovely tits, Granger?”

She smiled, adjusting herself on his lap. His hands moved down her waist to cup her backside.

“And your arse…”

She kissed him again, quick and heated. His hands squeezed her arse and she pressed against him. He was hard against her bare thigh, and she sighed.

With fumbling hands, she pushed his robes off his shoulders and started on the buttons of his Oxford. “You wear far too much clothing…”

He chuckled as she jerked his shirttails free from his trousers, the grin faltering as she pouted at his white undershirt. When she  _ finally _ had him shirtless under her, Hermione made the most of the bare skin--touching his chest and shoulders, kissing down his neck until she found the spot at the column of his throat that made him groan.

She smiled against the skin before flicking her tongue across it. When his hands tightened on her waist, she sucked, hoping to leave a bruise for him to find later.

When she pulled back, he looked surprised.

“ I thought we already…?”  
  
She blinked. “Oh. That’s it, then?”

“That’s  _ it _ ?!”

Hermione laughed. “It was very good. I’m not insulting you. I had a lot of fun, and didn’t want it to be over… Oh.”

But of course it was. She’d given him sex--the chase was over, and she was mortified. But then. Why was she  _ here _ ?! Why had he invited her back to his place for dinner if they weren’t going to shag? She moved to slide off his lap, but Malfoy took hold of her thighs.

“I guess there’s still a lot to learn, isn’t there?”

“You told me once I’d  find that you’re a very good teacher. Obsessive about getting things done right, no matter how many lessons it’d take.” She pouted. “I hardly thought that meant last weekend was our first  _ and  _ last time together.”

“I thought you wanted to lose your virginity, Granger. But if you want to keep at it, maybe we should talk about this.”

She wanted to laugh. Instead, she squirmed on his lap, delighting in the tightening of his grip on her waist. Hermione could see his mouth press firm, could see the tensing of his lower abdominals. She wanted to lick them...

“Draco Malfoy, do you honestly want to postpone shagging me to have a conversation?!”

“I really don’t.”

Malfoy kissed her again. 

He was shirtless and she was straddling him. Hermione shifted her weight and threaded her hands in his soft hair--she’d always loved his stupid hair--her fingers droping from his shoulder to trace the raised lines of the  _ sectumsempra _ scar across his chest. 

Leisurely, he slid his hands over her bare calves. His hands curved up the back of her thighs, and he admired the view of her breasts in his face.

It was a fairly expensive bra, something Hermione had splurged on after a bad first date to remind herself that she was attractive and desirable. And she thought it made her tits look rather good--pushing them up slightly, giving them a shapely curve of cleavage that she couldn’t achieve otherwise.

And so when Malfoy ripped the thin fabric between her breasts and her bra hung awkwardly off her shoulders, Hermione gasped.

“Malfoy! I liked this bra!”

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he might smile. “I liked it, too.”

She opened her mouth to protest further, but his fingertips brushed the warm crotch of her knickers and she suddenly didn’t care about her torn bra. He could rip her knickers to shreds, too, if he wanted.

Oh, she hoped he wanted...

On shaking legs, Hermione pushed off his lap and stood before him. There was a thrill of satisfaction as she watched Malfoy sit perfectly still on the edge of his sofa--eyes dark and mouth slightly agape as he watched he shimmy out of her skirt and knickers.

She pushed the torn bra from her shoulders and fought the urge to cross her arms to cover some of her nakedness.

This was all still new and slightly embarrassing, but the heat in Malfoy’s eyes as he took her in made her flush. And not in shame.

She bent between his legs and his eyes flew wide, and then her cheeks  _ did  _ flame.  _ That _ hadn’t been her intention… With shaking fingers, Hermione helped him out of his shorts and then stood again.

In a movement she hoped veered more on the side of sexy than clunky, she tossed her knees back over his lap and straddled him once more.

It was much different when they were naked. When she could feel his cock bare against her thigh.

Hermione reached for him and guided him toward her entrance. Stretching up onto her knees, she lowered herself down onto him, biting her bottom lip as she felt him fill her, stretch her. He watched her wince, briefly, before she pushed herself up again--slowly, slowly--before plunging back down on him.

One of his hands came up to knead the soft flesh of her left breast while his tongue lavished attention on the other. She grasped handfuls of his blonde hair, words spilling from her mouth--silly things like  _ yes, more _ and  _ Draco, please-- _ as she rolled her hips against him. He let go of her breast and grasped her hips with both hands, helping her to move on him, keeping her pace. Hermione angled forward, pressing her chest against his, burying her face in his neck.

Her words continued on as he guided her hips to a frantic pace. The angle shifted slightly and she felt his cock deeper, touching the spot that she knew would make her come.

His lips were on her neck, sucking bruises on her skin, his fingers pressing firmly into her hips as she rode him.

When she came, she cried out his name. When she opened her eyes, he was staring back at her, his eyes slate and pupils blown wide.

She shook on his lap and he let her orgasm fade before starting back up again--thrusting into her deeper and faster than before.

His hands skimmed from her waist, up the skin stretching tight over her ribs. He cupped her breasts, lifting the firm slightness of them with his palms, his lips kissing across her throat as he bucked his hips to thrust inside her.

She felt him twitching inside her as he came, his voice hoarse as he cursed. As he told her how perfect she was, how amazing she felt with his cock inside her.

Hermione smiled on his lap, her hands once again sinking into the locks of bond hair. Shorter in the back than the top, where soft fringe swooped over his forehead. She wondered if he spent as much time and energy as Theo on this look.

Probably. She grinned.

He stared back at her, one of his fingers playing with a stray curl, his other hand still curled firmly on her hip.

They stood and he cast a cleaning charm. Hermione slipped her knickers back on and Draco handed her his white undershirt. She pulled it over her head. It fell high on her thigh and it smelled like him.

She wondered if he’d mind if she kept it… He owed her after her tearing her bra in half, after all.

He shrugged his shorts and trousers back on and then made tea, shirtless. Hermione watched with wide eyes.

“I just realized I have no idea how you take your tea.”

She smiled. “Milk and sugar, please.”

“Too sweet. Just like you take your coffee.” He smiled as he handed her a cup, and they sat on his sofa sipping tea. The exact spot where she’d ridden him just moments ago until they’d both come.

“I liked this time better,” she admitted, wishing instantly she could take the words back. However, Draco didn’t look put off. His grey eyes were expressionless, but she got the feeling he’d like her to go on. “It was good the first time, of course. And I’d like to try that again, with you on top. But this time, without the pressure of my virginity and wondering if it would hurt or if I was doing it correctly, it was… fun.”

“Sex can be very enjoyable, Granger. It’s why so many people do it.”

She laughed. “I suppose.”

It was quiet for a moment as she sipped her tea and gathered her thoughts.

“Is that why you agreed to this, then? Because sex is enjoyable, no matter the partner?”

She wanted to flinch. Her intention hadn’t been to fish for compliments or have Malfoy admit aloud that he didn’t care who he was shagging, so long as he was shagging someone. But she was the type of person that liked to know--that  _ had  _ to know.

He raised a pale brow at her, sipping some of his tea, and Hermione felt the urge to cover the silence with her thoughts.

“That first night. I was drunk, and you didn’t take advantage of me. If you’d just wanted sex…”

“You were drunk. Surely you think better than that of me, even then?”

She took a sip of tea. “I do. It’s just difficult for me to wrap my head around the next parts. You showed up the next day at the pub, and you took things slowly.”

“So painfully slowly. I should get an award, really.”

She grinned. “Making me touch myself, you touching me, going down on me… then  _ finally _ shagging me. Why?”

He stared at her. “Surely you’re not so insecure that you need me to tell you that you’re an attractive witch?”

“It is nice to hear.” She watched him, carefully.

“I wanted to fuck you that night, but you were drunk. If I hadn’t walked you home,” his eyes were on the surface of his tea, “I knew you’d just go to the next guy and ask  _ him  _ to shag you, and I didn’t want that.”

“And why did you walk over to my table that night?”

His eyes met hers. “You looked so miserable.”

“And you wanted to make me  _ more  _ miserable?”

“No. I couldn’t think of a single thing that could be wrong with you. You’re brilliant, famous, by all accounts should be happy.” His tone was light, but his eyes were serious. “You’re fucking gorgeous, could have any bloke you chose at that bar. But you sat there all alone, looking like someone’d kicked a House Elf.”

She frowned at him, unimpressed.

“You told me you used to touch yourself to a fantasy of us, on prefect rounds?” he asked, and she could feel the heat climbing up her neck. Malfoy grinned. “You’re not the only one who might’ve wanted that. And I realized that night at the pub as I watched you that I no longer cared about stupid things like blood prejudices, you weren’t my rival in school, you weren’t Potter’s swotty sidekick or the out-of-his-league girl on Weasley’s arm. And I could talk to you, maybe you’d let me kiss you. And then…” He laughed, a real laugh that made Hermione’s spine straighten. “Then you opened with asking me to tutor you on sex. I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

“If I’d tried something in school--” They both know she wouldn’t have. “--would you? Or was I filthy Mudblood, not worthy of your touch?”

His face fell. “Don’t-- don’t say that.”

“It’s a word, Malfoy.”

He ran the pad of his thumb over the scar on her wrist, something broken on his features.

“It’s not just a word. And… I don’t know. If you’d approached me in school, well, I was different then. A prat, really.”

“ _ Such _ a prat.” She grinned.

“But,” his eyes were heated, “it would’ve been very, very hard to say no. No, I don’t think I would've been capable of turning you down. I would’ve been hard just thinking about it, you.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. It wouldn’t have worked between them in school, even if they had been attracted to one another. But now, sitting on the edge of his couch sipping tea after they’d shagged, she knew it was different for them.

“My turn for questions.”

She tilted her head to one side, curls falling over her shoulders as her fingers played with the hem of the white T-shirt. It was so soft--how much did something like this cost?!

“I know Weasley is getting married. Is that why you were so miserable that night?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “That night I was drinking my sorrows after a bad date, it had nothing to do with Ron.” Then she bit her lip. “Ah, but the night you waited for me after work? When you told me to go home and touch myself at the bookshop? That was the day I received the invitation. And it probably has something to do with why I went home and touched myself because you’d told me to.”

“You touched yourself to me.”

“Yes…” she glared at him, at the smirk curling the edge of his mouth and the humor shining in his eyes.

“That’s just my favorite part of the story.”

Hermione carried on, ignoring him. “I loved Ron, in a lot of ways he was my first everything--”

_ “I  _ was your first everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’ve crossed off quite a bit of my  _ firsts _ from my list. But Ron was my first crush, my first boyfriend. However, after the war we didn’t have anything to talk about. Not a lot in common as it turns out all our shared interests were Harry and defeating Voldemort.”

Draco flinched at the word and Hermione wanted to remind him that it was a word, just like Mudblood, but maybe some words were better left unsaid.

“Ron didn’t want to read any of the books I suggested, I was no fun at all those Quidditch afterparties, and I definitely didn’t want to move to France to leave my entire life behind. So he went without me.”

Malfoy took her hand, his thumb tracing her knuckles, and she smiled.

“At some point we stopped kissing, stopped touching, we didn’t even write to one another much after he moved. The distance was too great, and we never made it to the physical intimacy stage we probably should have before he left. And then we both realized we were just friends trying to hold onto something more, and so we broke it off.”

“I didn’t hate you. In school.”

She inclined her head, a disbelieving  _ hum. _

“We’ve established I was a prat, sure--”

“ _ Was _ ?”

His fingers stilled and she glanced down. He was shirtless; the brand in his left arm had faded, and she suspected his prejudices along with it, but it was still there--a glaring reminder of the consequences they’d have to live with for their actions as children.

Malfoy looked offended. “I was perhaps a little conceited. Though I like to think of it as being  _ aware  _ of my own value, of my rank above others. And perhaps I was mildly temperamental about not being the best--”

She snorted, and his eyes narrowed in a way that reminded her so much of the Malfoy she remembered from school.

“There were a handful of us who’d been fed the same shit our entire lives, but it was different for me. Different from Theo and Blaise and Pansy and the others.”

Hermione bit her lips together. He wasn’t joking any longer; he was opening up to her.

“Your best pal Nott was clean. He’d always cared less than the others about things like blood purity. Though I supposed he was always afraid of facing his own prejudices.”

Theo had never spelled it out like that, but Hermione nodded in understanding. Theo wasn’t shy about being who he was and flaunting what he wanted, but she imagined there was a time in his life when he wasn’t so flippant about being himself.

“I was the only one who…” Draco ran a hand through his hair, tangling some of the strands in a way that had Hermione biting her lip. “I was so bent out of shape. I’d spent my youth excelling, being the best at everything I tried my hand at. I was the wealthiest, the smartest, the most athletic--”

_ “And  _ the most modest, by far.”

He grinned at her. “Until Hogwarts. I’d waited my entire life to get to that school and be the fucking king of that place, only to be second best at every corner. Potter was the most famous. Potter excelled at Quidditch. And then, in the classroom…”

Hermione shrugged. “Malfoy, we can’t expect to be the best at everything.”

But even saying it, she knew. She also strived for perfection in all things. It was a shared trait of theirs.

“And then the dark lord came. And I was so eager... So fucking naive and stupid, but greedy to prove myself. Delighted to finally be the one chosen. The only one offered the opportunity. If I succeeded I’d be famous, victorious over Potter and finally the fucking  _ best _ at something for the first time at that school.”

“Malfoy…”

He shook his head. “But the deeper I got, the more I saw, and the less I wanted to be the best at any part of that.” She watched his throat work as he swallowed. “My mother knew I didn’t want to. She didn’t want me there, either. She definitely didn’t want me to kill anyone. She was the only one who cared more about my safety than my success.”

“I’m... I’m sorry.” She could feel her eyes watering, and she rubbed her palms below her eyes only to find them dry.

Malfoy looked confused. “For what?”

“That you had to make that choice.”

“We all had a shit time.” He shrugged. “It was war.”

“But you-- You’re an auror now. You get to save the fucking world. That’s a big achievement, Draco.”

He lifted a brow. “Draco?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

He kissed her and she nearly spilt her tea. When she set it aside, Hermione opened her mouth to lecture him, but before she could say anything he was kissing her again, pressing her back against the sofa. His hands sliding across her stomach over the soft material of her borrowed shirt.

“Say it again.”

She laughed and he glared hotly at her.

“Make me.”

His eyes lit with the challenge, and then he knelt before her, spreading her thighs. Hermione whimpered at the first touch of his mouth on the inside of her knee.

Her fingers wound into his hair, and she breathed, “Malfoy…”

“Tch. Granger, don’t be difficult. This could all be over if you’d just…” Another kiss, higher on her thigh. “...say it.”

It wasn’t long before he had her knickers by her knees, mouth on her, finger moving across her folds.

“Malfoy…” she whimpered. “ _ Please _ .”

“Granger.”

She laughed. “Yes, yes. Fine.  _ Draco _ .”

“Draco…?”

The innocent look on his face paired the curl of his mocking smile had Hermione snorting.

“Draco,  _ please _ .”

He kissed her, tongue swirling her clit, and she inhaled through her teeth.

“Good girl.”

She squirmed on his sofa, panting and hot and eager for more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to [ramsitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsitter/pseuds/ramsitter) for beta'ing all this smut on my behalf. I really don't know how to thank her properly :D

The scratching of quill against parchment was interrupted by three quick taps against her office door. Hermione paused--she knew that knock anywhere, more than used to hearing it against her bedroom door back when she had a roommate.

Ginny opened the door, a smile on her mouth, a gleam in her eyes, and Hermione carefully placed her quill in its holder and straightened in her chair.

“Ginny! What are you doing here?”

“Just dropped in to have lunch with Harry.”

Hermione blinked. Had she worked through lunch again today? Sighing, she ran a hand through her ponytail, fingers tangling in her haphazard curls.

“Also wanted to walk him back to his office so I could grin at Malfoy.”

Hermione stilled. “You didn’t.”

The redhead lifted her hands defensively, her grin twitching at both corners of her mouth. “I didn’t say anything! Promise. Just a wink. I hadn’t seen him since he crashed our brunch, and… Gosh, Hermione. He’s fit.”

Deciding this was a conversation she didn’t want to have--not in her office with her door open where any one of her coworkers could hear--Hermione plucked the quill into her hands and began proofing the document only half-finished on the surface of her desk.

“Since I was here, and since I got to be on the receiving end of that Malfoy smirk, I thought I’d pop in and say hello.” Ginny inclined her head, watching the tension in Hermione’s shoulders, the firm press of her lips. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?”

“No, sorry, Gin. Tonight I have…” She paused for a moment, struggling for a word. Finally, she settled on, “Research.”

Ginny cackled, like that response was typical Hermione, but Hermione bit her lip.

Sure, perhaps her approach to something new and unknown wasn’t vastly different depending on the subject matter, but if Ginny knew  _ what _ Hermione had planned to research… Well, Ginny wouldn’t have simply laughed and said goodbye without teasing her mercilessly first.

Once the workday was behind her and she was in the safety of her flat, Hermione changed into a pair of loose, cotton pajama pants that had little wands printed all over them. She yanked a soft tank top over her head and poured herself a heavy serving of wine. All the way to the top, just the way that they’d never do at all those posh restaurants Malfoy probably frequented…

Then, sitting cross-legged on her sofa, Hermione retrieved her muggle laptop and exhaled.

Into the search bar, she began her research, typing with steady, deft fingers:  _ how to give the perfect blowjob. _

A mountain of  _ Witch Weekly _ issues at her side and a dozen open tabs on a forum of men discussing what they liked and women detailing what had seemed to garner a positive response, Hermione settled in for an evening of reading.

She’d always been studious, and she didn’t like going into things blindly. Malfoy had been perfectly good to her during her first time, but she didn’t like feeling inexperienced. She didn’t want to give him a reason to smirk at her while she fumbled with his cock on her knees. No, she wanted to give him the best blow job he’d ever had, dammit.

So she read internet forums, quill in hand as she took notes. She pulled up muggle porn, gulping wine as she watched the sensual way the woman on her knees sucked the obscenely large cock in front of her.

She finished her wine and poured another glass. She scribbled notes as the tabs began closing, one by one, as she scoured internet forums and watched more blowjob pornography than a sixteen year old boy whose parents had gone away for the weekend.

Hermione turned off her laptop, squinting down at the parchment. She felt almost equipped, but there was just one more step to her research... Knocking back the rest of her wine, she dreaded next weekend’s brunch. It was possible that it was going to be the most horrifying part of her research...

  
  


…...

  
  


On Sunday afternoon, the early November sky was dotted with clouds. Beneath the large striped umbrella, Ginny wondered aloud if it would rain on them.

Theo cut his sausages into little triangles and brought each, tidy bite to his mouth with those pureblood manners that would’ve normally made Hermione snort. She would have, if only the action of sausages disappearing into Theo’s mouth didn’t bring to the light the exact topic of conversation she’d been dreading…

“So,” Hermione began, wincing at the stark volume of the single word. “I would like to talk to you both about something. I need your… assistance.”

Theo wiped his mouth with a napkin. Ginny stopped looking at the sky.

“I would like to know everything you both know about oral sex. Ah, that is, me on him--blowjobs.”

Theo blinked, the napkin still at his chin. Ginny tilted her head, afternoon sunlight glinting in her red hair like flames.

“I would like to hear first-hand accounts on how to give a bloody amazing blowjob.”

“Wait,” Theo began, then he paused to squint at Hermione for a long moment before exhaling and dropping his napkin into his lap. “Are you asking  _ me  _ for advice on how to  _ blow Draco Malfoy _ ?!”

“Not Malfoy specifically.” Hermione’s teeth caught her lip. “I just… I haven’t ever, still. And I want to do it well. You know?”

“He’s going to like it. If your mouth is on his cock and you look like you’re enjoying yourself, he’s going to like it,” Ginny assured.

“I don't want him to just like it. I was to  _ blow his fucking mind. _ ”

Ginny and Theo exchanged a look, and then they were moving. Ginny poured another round of mimosa’s, Theo passing one across to Hermione as his expression grew serious.

“Alright, then. We’re doing this.” Ginny grinned.

Hermione accepted the mimosa and took a sip as Theo nodded.

“We’re doing this. So it really isn’t all that complicated; my favorite part is when a bloke sucks the top of my cock and uses their hands on the bottom, like a handjob.”

Ginny nodded eagerly at his side. “I also like to stroke their thighs while I’m working them with my mouth.”

“Eh, it’s better when you cup the sac.”

“Is it?” Ginny asked, taking a sip from her mimosa, eyes bright.

Hermione lifted a finger as she grabbed for a muggle pen and notebook she kept in her bag. “Wait a moment!”

“You are not seriously taking notes…”

She glared at them, but Theo shrugged.

“Use your hand, twist it around the base--but make sure there’s plenty of lube! And no twisting it like you're trying to dry out a towel.”

“Yeah. Rotate your hand with some pressure, but not too tight. And of course let him finish in your mouth and swallow.” Ginny watched Hermione’s pen still. “Ah, if you’re fine with that, of course.”

Theo lifted a single dark brow, his finger circling the rim of his champagne flute. “I generally always start by kissing the head, flicking my tongue against the glans. Drive him mental with it, tease him like you’re not even thinking about doing anything but, and when you think he can’t take any more, flatten your tongue and lick him from top to bottom. Build up some saliva, trust me, he’ll appreciate it if it’s slick, and when you’re ready, take him in your mouth--flick your tongue up and down, slowly creeping your lips up over his head, then backing off. The heat from your mouth and your breath will make him throb with anticipation--he’ll be practically begging for you to slide him into your mouth.”   
  
Ginny grinned, her eyes bright. Hermione tried to ignore the fact that she knew Ginny had only sucked  _ one, single  _ cock in her life, and it just so happened to belong to Hermione’s best friend.

“And no teeth. Some guys like a tiny bit of firmness, but to be safe, no teeth touching it on your first go. Run your tongue from the bottom of his shaft all the way up toward the top, like you’re tracing his penis with your tongue, memorizing it. And if you can’t fit him all in your mouth, that’s fine. Use your hands a bit, working them with your lips and tongue. Look at him while you do this--he’ll like it.”

“But really Hermione,” Theo sighed, “the worst blowjob I’ve ever had was still wonderful.”

Ginny’s eyes lost some of their glassiness as she smiled at her friend. “I really think you just need to get out of your head and relax. You’ll do brilliantly. Malfoy’s going to be so weak for you.”

Theo lifted his mimosa to his lips, his eyes serious. “And if you need guidance, ask  _ him _ . No one’s gotten Draco off more times than he has himself.” Some of the orange liquid in his glass swirled dangerously as he spoke. “He knows what feels best when it comes to his own cock better than anyone, and he’d be more than happy to guide you.”

…….

She’d avoided the embarrassing stack of notes on her kitchen table all Sunday evening, and as she sat in her office on Monday afternoon, Hermione decided she ought to burn the pages lest anyone found just how much research she’d been putting into sucking Draco Malfoy off.   
  
Her sixteen-year-old self would be horrified, really.   
  
Hermione was busy laughing at herself when there was a knock on her door, and quickly she picked up the closest book on her desk in an effort to look busy.   
  
“Come in!” she called, her voice a bit keen for so early on a Monday afternoon.   
  
The door creaked open, and Harry Potter watched her with wide, careful eyes. She nearly groaned. It was the same pained expression he wore whenever he was about to use his kids gloves with her, and Hermione loathed to think he found her so weak she needed coddling. She was strong, dammit. She was a bloody war heroine, and if this was about Ron…   
  
“Ron’s in town. He wants you, Ginny, and I to join him and Camille for dinner tonight.”   
  
“Oh,” Hermione nodded, “It’s been ages since we’ve all been together, huh?”   
  
“Last Christmas, probably.” Harry’s smile was tight   
  
“Harry, I’m really tired of having this conversation. I’m happy for him. Ron and I… We’re friends. It didn’t work out, but I don’t still harbor feelings for him.”   
  
“I know. But since he broke up with you--”   
  
“We drifted apart. Sometimes, people can like one another, but if it doesn’t--” She dropped the book, no longer needing a prop to keep her hands busy. “Sometimes the person we date in school isn’t the person we’re supposed to end up with.” Then she smiled, thinking of Ginny and Harry and how they just… fit. Effortlessly. Like she’d always imagined love was supposed to be. “And sometimes you get lucky and it works out that way. But Ron and I… We’re better off as friends. I would love to have dinner.”   
  
“Good. As long as you’re okay.”   
  
She glared at him. “Have I given you the impression that I'm not okay?”   
  
Harry shrugged. “When it comes to dating, you’re a bit hard to read.”   
  
She supposed that was true. Waving him out, she decided to wrap up for the day around five o’clock. When she shuffled onto the lift with several of her other coworkers, she smiled politely, hoping no one made a comment about her heading off at a normal hour.   
  
They didn’t, and her heels clicked across the Atrium before she flooed back to her flat. She decided on charming her hair and changing into a dress. She wasn’t nervous, but she wanted to look nice. Wanted to smile at Ron’s perfect  Beauxbatons fiancee and her white teeth and straight hair and for once feel like the shiny Golden Girl others believed her to be.   
  
Two minutes before six, she apparated to the wizarding restaurant Ron had chosen, meeting Ginny and Harry already waiting inside. Only a few moments later Ron and Camille strolled inside--laughing, chatting, giving quick hugs in greeting.   
  
Hermione made a show of fussing over Camille’s lovely ring, and Ginny only made two inappropriate comments regarding their wedding night before the five of them were shoved into a private table near the back.   
  
Hermione was stuffing a buttered slice of bread into her mouth when Ron asked Harry to be his best man at the wedding. They grinned and shook hands, and Hermione smiled around the bread, unable to voice her congratulations.   
  
“And I wanted to ask if zee two of you would be bridesmaids,” Camille began, her cheeks pink and eyes nervous.   
  
Ginny grinned and hugged her future sister-in-law while Hermione took a sip of water to keep from choking on the slice of bread now lodged in her throat.   
  
When Camille turned her nervous smile--complete with both rows of perfectly white teeth that would have Hermione’s dentist parents swooning--Hermione could only blink.   
  
“Me?”   
  
Camille’s smile stretched a bit tight at the corners. She looked a bit terrified, really, and Hermione bit her lip, wondering what she’d done that could ever possibly intimidate the perfect French woman.   
  
“Ron haz so many brothers. And friends. I don’t even  _ know  _ zat many girls,” she laughed, a perfect  Beauxbatons laugh . “I have some friends from school I’m still close to zat will stand by my side, but… You’re Ron’s two  _ best _ girlz. His sister, and practically hiz sister.” Hermione almost flinched. “And also…” Camille smiled, her eyes on Hermione. “You’re like a hero to me.”   
  
Hermione felt the heat climbing her neck. She placed the torn chunk of bread onto the plate in front of her, feeling her mouth opening and closing. For all her brains, she couldn’t form words.   
  
“I had your photo from last summer’s  _ Witch Weekly _ feature on my dresser. It waz a sort of inspiration for me, every day. Ron told me I had to take it down once we started to date,” Camille smiled fondly, “but it… it would be such an honor for you to be zere, by my side. To be able to consider you a friend.”

“Of course!” Hermione nodded, feeling something burning behind her eyelids. Damn Ron for finding a woman who was as sweet and earnest as she was gorgeous.

They ate their dinner, talking about Quidditch and France, and Hermione sipped wine, nodding when Camille asked if she and Ginny would be available to go dress shopping next time she was in London.

When they said their goodbyes, Hermione walked with Ginny toward the apparition point.

“You can tell me,” Ginny whispered. “If you’re uncomfortable with something, you can tell me.”

“I… I know.” Hermione shook her head, hoping her smile conveyed her feelings. “I like Camille. She’s sweet. I think she’s lovely, really, and good for Ron.”

“I’m sure Ron just  _ loves  _ that you’re an idol to her.” Ginny barked out a laugh. “But seriously, if you want to talk… And not just about bridesmaid dresses and blowjobs. Hermione, you can tell me how you feel. How you  _ really  _ feel.”

She  wanted to share, honestly. If there was one person she could talk things through with, it was Ginny. And she’d like Ginny’s advice, honestly; Hermione would love to hear confirmation that she was insane for what she was doing with Malfoy. Her friends were settling down and getting married while she was busy losing her virginity to a man she wasn’t serious about and watching Muggle porn to better suck Draco Malfoy’s cock.

What Hermione didn’t want, however, was to burst the bubble she’d created with Malfoy. And he knew the answer Ginny would give: it wasn’t smart, what they were doing. She shouldn’t sleep over at her former enemy’s flat and have coffee with him and make him laugh and listen to his deepest, darkest secrets, because they both knew she was going to fall in--

Hermione shook her head. Someone was going to get hurt.

And she was convinced that it was going to be her.

…….

Draco watched as his plate was carried off, draining the last sip of Firewhiskey from his glass. Across the table, his mother gave her compliments to the chef before asking how his meal had been.

“Good,” he replied. It had been slightly overcooked, but he’d skipped the last two dinners his mother had invited him out to, and Draco didn’t want her thinking a moment had not been to his taste.

She smiled tightly. “Dinner’s over, and you still haven’t told me  _ anything _ new with you, dear.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Now Draco, I hardly believe that. A young, single bachelor such as yourself? I read your feature in  _ Witch Weekly  _ last month--” Draco took another swallow of Firewhiskey. That article had been rubbish, of course. “--and then I saw you photographed with Hermione Granger in the  _ Prophet _ .”

Draco exhaled, but didn’t reply.

“You could do a lot worse, you know?”

He shifted in his chair. He knew, of course. But he didn’t need his mother knowing any of the intimate, sordid details of their affair. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t  _ anything _ .

“Just know that you have my approval.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need it. There’s nothing there.”

Narcissa’s lips flexed slightly, on anyone else it would nearly be a frown, but her features settled back to her normal mask so quickly he was left wondering if he’d seen the shift at all.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Draco, if you’re being cold towards her--”

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. To reach for the cutlery at the table and commit seppuku just to avoid the path their conversation was headed… 

“We’re… friends,” the word in association with Granger felt strange. But it wasn’t exactly untrue. “She’s pleasant to be around.”

“She’s very pretty.”

He ignored her, stressing, “Please Mother, drop it.”

Narcissa exhaled as she lifted her teacup to her lips. Though she didn’t bring it up again that evening, Draco had little confidence that the subject was dropped.

He knew she wanted details, but how did one go about explaining to their mother that yes, sure, Hermione Granger was indeed a lovely woman--a golden, sparkling celebrity who was as brilliant as she was beautiful, but they weren’t serious. Riling her up, making her eyes flash and her foot stomp happened to be one of his favorite hobbies as of late. He also enjoyed fingering her on the Ministry rooftop and agreeing to  _ take  _ her  _ sodding virginity _ .

Instead of rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Draco finished his drink and escorted his mother outside. And there, walking down the street toward the apparition point as though his thoughts had summoned her, was Hermione Granger. Her arm was linked with the female Weasley’s, chatting amicably.

Likely sensing the heat of his eyes on her, Hermione lifted her gaze. Draco grinned. Her brown eyes widened, she lost her footing for a moment, and the Weasley laughed, practically shoving Hermione in his direction.

Draco turned toward his mother, not missing the insufferable smile Narcissa wore as she waved him away, and then he was crossing the street to meet Hermione halfway.

Her hair was curled differently and she wore a pretty dress. As his eyes flitted over her body, Hermione flushed.

“I was having dinner with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and his fiancee.”

“La Cozza Infuriat?” He asked, nodding toward the warm yellow lights of the wizarding restaurant he knew well. Hermione nodded. “Ah, Italian. My mother and I opted for French--we dined at La Torque.”

“ _ Dined _ ,” her eyes teased him. “You’re so well-bred, Draco.”

He was indeed, and though it was something she tried to pass as an insult, his blood only hummed. He could show her his world--spoil her with meals and dresses and jewels. Could take her to whatever restaurant she wanted, anywhere in the world, watch her eyes narrow at the menus scrawled in languages she couldn’t read with prices omitted for her eyes to see.

“Why are you smiling?”

He attempted to fight the grin, but to no avail. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

The street was crowded, wizarding folk coming to and from dinners, dressed in their best robes. Draco shifted his weight, aware that they were earning more than their share of looks. He the eligible Malfoy heir and she the sodding sweetheart of the wizarding world.

He cleared his throat. “A pub? Coffee shop?”

“Your place.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the apparition point, and then they were in his flat.

He kissed her and she melted against him. Her hands tugged at his robes as she buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s been… quite a day.”

But she didn’t say anything more. Didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask.

Instead, he let her kiss him, pressing up on her toes and taking his lower lip between her teeth. Her kisses were almost frantic, backing him up until his calves collided with the sofa. Her small hands flattened against his chest and shoved him.

She didn’t possess the strength to push him backward--not without the help of her wand--but Draco found himself bending to her demands, sitting back on the sofa, knees parting as Hermione sunk between them, kissing a trail across his jaw, down his throat. Her fingers shook as she unthreaded the buttons of his shirt, her mouth covering each inch of bare skin she revealed.

When she settled on her knees between his thighs, Draco stared down at her. His shirt was unbuttoned, parted to reveal a strip of his pale chest. Her mouth moved across his tightening abs, over the light hair above his navel, her kisses verging dangerously low as Draco lifted her chin to face him. Her brown eyes were wide and she looked more determined than he’d ever seen her. Like her brilliant brain was working faster than he could keep up.

“Hey, I don’t expect…” Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth as her fingertips skimmed his length through the wool of his trousers. “We can spend time together not getting one another off.”

She smiled at him. A real smile, and something in her brown eyes shifted.

“Draco, I want to try something. Something new. Something for  _ you _ .”

Then those impossibly brilliant fingers were taking off his belt. He could tell she was trying to keep eye contact as she unfastened the buttons of his trousers, but her eyes darted down to help guide her hands ever so often. Her pink tongue darting out, wettening her lips and making him hard.

“Granger-- Hermione… You don’t have to--”

She kissed his hip bone, tongue tracing just above the band of his pants, and Draco’s hands balled at his sides. He wanted to grab her, to hold onto something, but he also wanted to watch her brilliant mind work this out.

Sitting between his legs, Hermione Granger looked up at him through her lashes and grinned a seductress’ grin. “You don’t want me to?”

No.  _ fuck _ . He really, really did.

She started tugging his trousers down his legs.

“You can tell me to stop at any time…” she teased.

Draco ran a hand through his blond hair, biting his lip to keep his smile from becoming idiotic.  _ Merlin _ he was a fool to think he could teach this witch anything.

Then, without another word, Hermione’s thumb tugged at a ponytail holder on her wrist and she was gathering her curls behind her head. Still knelt between his shaking thighs, she yanked the last layer of clothing off his legs and then she was staring face-to-face with his erection.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this hard in his life, not with the studious way Hermione stared at him like she was approaching a N.E.W.T. that she was determined to receive an Outstanding on.

Draco unfurled his right hand to reach toward her, running the pad of his thumb along her jaw, pausing at her mouth. Her lips were pouting and perfect, and just as he was thinking he couldn’t be any more turned on, her tongue darted out, flicking across the pad of his fingertip.

Then she dipped her head to place a chaste kiss on the underside of his cock.

Inhaling sharply, Draco felt the first touch of her tongue, warm and wet against him as his hands tangled in her hair, cradling the back of her head. A single bead of liquid appeared at the tip of his cock and she pressed her mouth there, tasting him. 

A groan rumbled from low in his chest and her lips flexed to a smile against him. Then with tortuously slow precision, she ran her tongue from his sac to the tip of his cock, never breaking eye contact. She kissed her way across his glans and then back down to the base of his cock, pressing her lips against where the thin skin stretched to his sac before flattening her tongue to lick all the way back up--circling a couple of times around his head until his fingers fisted tight in her hair.

“Let me know how you want it,” she said, hot breath brushing against him, before opening up, taking him all in. He nearly laughed--like he could tell her to do anything better than she was already doing just then.

He groaned as she found a steady rhythm with her lips. There was rough need in his voice as he breathed her name.

Hermione left no part of his length unexplored, pulling back to lick the length of his cock again, her eyes watching him as her hands cupped his sac.

Draco groaned as she enveloped him in her mouth once more, sucking her way little by little toward the base, running her tongue down the length of him.

He held her hair in his fist, searching for some manner of control over her devastating assault on his senses. Logging the memory of her on her knees before he lost himself in her. 

But this wasn’t how he wanted to finish...

As he watched her, her brown eyes stared back at him. Draco released his hold in her hair, the once tidy ponytail now loose and askew. 

“Draco, I want you to come,” she said against the tip of his cock, and he fought the urge to thrust inside her pretty mouth--to choke her with his need for it.

She parted her lips, taking him in as far as she could, while her hand twisted at his base, slick with her saliva. Then she pulled back to thumb the precum dripping from his tip, spreading it across his head before licking it up clean.

Draco tipped his head back against the sofa  as she continued to bob her head in time with the rhythm she'd created  while her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.

She added a second hand. With a firm grasp, she pumped the length of his cock, her hands and mouth working in tandem to bring him closer-- closer--

When he looked down, her dark eyes were closed. Some of her curls had escaped the elastic to fall loose around her shoulders. She was gorgeous.

Eyes burning with heat, Draco grinned at her. “I want to fuck you.”

Her eyes opened, his cock slipping from her mouth.

“Don’t worry about me. This is for you.”

He laughed over his own quickening breath. “And you think feeling you come while I'm inside you isn’t for me?”

Draco scooped her up and her legs wound around his waist, her arms circling his neck. She gasped as he moved them across the flat--depositing her onto his kitchen countertop. Her legs stayed wrapped around him, her brown eyes wide and smiling as he kissed her.

Draco wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but having her here like this--bucking her hips, breathing his name, while his fingertips found her clit--was something he never wanted to give up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to [ramsitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsitter/pseuds/ramsitter) for the beta once again. She had her work cut out for her this week... :D

An owl tapped at her window.

A small parchment with four words in Draco’s ornate, familiar cursive:

_ Are you free tonight? _

She sent a hasty reply back:

_ Yes. _

His lips brushed against her ear as they crossed paths in the Ministry hallway:

“Are you free tonight?”

She grinned, fingers grasping the fabric of his Oxford.

“Yes.”

She hadn’t known he’d be at the Leaky tonight. Ginny’s eyes were wide, a bit glassy as they celebrated a Harpies' victory with cheap alcohol and idle chatter. Hermione bit her lip as Draco watched her from across the bar, heat in his eyes as his lips settled on the rim of his Firewhiskey.

_ Are you free tonight _ ? she mouthed.

He chuckled, lips forming the shape of a single word:

_ Yes. _

His lips moved over her folds, tongue dipping inside while his fingers traced tortuously light circles on her clit.

And Hermione wasn’t sure why, but she talked to him. She told him about her day at the Ministry, she detailed the book she’s just finished reading, she explained him her five-year-plan for moving up the ranks at work and--

And at some point he stopped tonguing her in favor of resting his cheek against her thigh, watching her with those inquisitive grey eyes. 

Hermione wondered if anyone had ever seen her like this before--really seen her, walls down and completely exposed--the way he’s seeing her now.

She flushed. “Sorry. I… I’m not sure I’ve ever talked so much in my entire life.”

“Yes, it was very impressive.”

She laughed, and then gasped--his tongue back on her, his fingers working her clit, but those grey eyes not leaving her own.

_ Are you free tonight? _

_ Yes. _

She shivered in the park. Why she’d agreed to come to another Quidditch pickup match, especially in this cold...

Hermione cast a quick warming charm and wound her scarf around her neck.

When her eyes caught sight of the lean figure perched on the most expensive broom on the market, she bit her lip. Of course she knew why she’d agreed to come.

After the game, she kissed him in greeting. He grinned down at her, reaching out to tug at one of her plaits. His cheeks were pink from the cold, his lips chapped, hair windswept.

Hermione ran a finger up his chest, over the still-transfigured jersey. “Hufflepuff yellow today, I see. Is this why you were so insistent I come?”

“Careful there, Granger.”

She lifted a challenging brow. “Have you ever done it in a locker room before?”

_ Are you free tonight? _

_ Yes. _

She let him into her apartment and he smiled. There was a dusting of flour on her cheek, a small splotch of it on the tip of her nose.

“I’m baking,” she explained over her shoulder, and when he got close enough he could smell it on her--something doughy and delicious.

Draco followed her into the kitchen as she explained that the dough was proofing while dusting her hands off on a towel, and when he kissed her she laughed against his mouth.

“At least let me wash out the mixing bowls,” she scolded.

Draco lifted her onto the countertop, her legs opening so he could stand between her thighs.

“No time,” he whispered, and the look in his eyes was all heat.

He pressed himself fully against her and Hermione bit her lip. “Malfoy...”

“Mm,” he hummed against her neck, and with her skirt bunching around her waist like this he’d only have to nudge her knickers aside and he’d be inside…

_ Are you free? _

_ Yes. _

Her knees pressed into her bed, Draco kneeling behind her. Naked, the tip of his cock poised at her entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and from his position he couldn’t see her face to read her reaction. He thought he knew her well enough to tell she’s keen by the relaxed slope of her shoulders, by the way her perfect backside pressed against him, but he wanted to be sure.

“Yes, Draco.  _ Please _ .”

The hand not holding his cock fitted around her hip, tickling the tender skin there. When he pushed inside, hissing at the feel of her around him, she pressed back to meet his thrusts and he knew with striking clarity that she’d be the one to have him undone.

_ Are you free? _

_ Yes. _

When he looked down, mouth opening to ask if she’d like to stay the night, he found her asleep. Head on his lap, mouth agape, book still open to the page she’d been reading before drifting off...

He should probably carry her to bed or wake her to see if she needed to head back to hers, but it was nice like this. Warm. And he found himself not wanting to move. Not wanting to let her go.

_ Are you free? _

An eagle owl with wide, haughty eyes swooped down, a slip of parchment with a single word scrawled:

_ Yes.  
  
  
_

Fingertips touched her chin, tilting her head to kiss her. Her mouth moved against his, smooth and cadenced.

When they parted, her laughter filled the small space of the supply closet.

“We’re at work.”

“Yeah,” Draco breathed. “And I wanted to see you.”

“We can’t… not in the  _ Ministry _ !”

The lighting was low, but not low enough to miss the flush of crimson across her cheeks and nose.  _ Cute. _ Draco grinned.

“Do you not want me?”

She sighed against him. “You prat. You know I do.”

_ Are you free? _

_ Yes. _

She came, calling his name, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He flipped her over so he could finish on top, so he could watch her face as she came undone.

_ Are you free? _

_ Yes. _

He had to pick up an order for his mother--a fancy dress shop in Diagon that was charmed to smell like cinnamon and vanilla. Just walking inside was an assault on his senses.

As he pushed through the door and breathed through his mouth, Draco contemplated why his mother couldn’t run her own errands or, better yet, have things delivered to the Manor. As the door smacked into its frame behind him, the gaggle of girlish laughter filling the dress shop came to a screeching halt.

He suspected vapid witches who wanted to get their claws into his Gringotts vault, but when Draco glanced over he found a pretty brunette blinking in his direction. At her side, Ginny Weasley was grinning in a long, floor-length chiffon dress. And rounding out the trio, Hermione stood wearing the same dress the she-Weasel was trying on. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted in shock as she stared at him.

He grinned at her as the other two girls collapsed into a fit of giggles. Hermione bit her lip and turned away, quickly, and Draco stared. He delivered the dress to his mother, reaching for a quill and parchment thoughts on nothing but the sight of Hermione in a lovely formal gown.

_ Are you free? _

_ Yes. _

She shivered against him as he grunted her name. Her first name-- _ Hermione-- _ over and over again, like he’ll forget if he doesn’t say it. Like he’s never said another name before and he won’t say another again.

_ Yes. _

“Dr-Draco,” she called, hands on his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight.

_ Yes. _

  
They were at dinner, celebrating something Potter had done at work, and Draco loathed that he was now included in nonsense like this. Hermione was at his side, flashing a few extra inches of thigh as she crossed her legs, and Draco couldn’t resist resting his hand on the bare skin there. She shivered next to him and he smirked.

Across the table, Harry sodding Potter continued the harrowing tale of his afternoon rescue, but Draco just wanted to get her home.

_ Yes.  
  
_

The second his meeting was over, Draco was practically sprinting to the lifts. He rode it to her floor, toes tapping against the elevator floor in expensive dragon leather shoes. The moment the lift doors parted, he was down the hall and in her office, shutting the door behind him. Maybe he’d just say hello, perhaps he’d tease her a bit. Maybe ask if she wanted lunch, or a quick shag against her desk.

Hermione looked up at the sound of her door opening and closing, and her face crumpled.

All the plans Draco had been musing over flew from his brain. “Granger…”

She stood and he reached for her, letting her sob into his chest.

“I’ve been working for ages… protection clause for the granians, and… and they say it won’t go-- They say I have to let it go, but that means--” She sniffed, and he could feel his shirt damp beneath her nose. For some reason, he wasn’t even disgusted. He barely understood what she was saying, and he held her shoulders gently.

Draco didn’t know her to cry. He kissed her temple, and asked, “What’s next then?”

“Next?” She blinked at him, brown eyes wet and wide.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I’ve known you for how many years now? You’re the most annoyingly persistent person I’ve ever met. You don’t give up, ever, so what’s next?”

She laughed, and then her shiny eyes gave way to that look of fierce determination.

“There’s my girl.”

She smiled a watery smile and it cracked his heart in two.

_ Are you free? _

She almost said she loves him.

She doesn’t.

Well, she  _ does, _ but she doesn’t say it.

_ Are you free? _

He grunted as he came. Below him, Hermione panted.

“Draco! I’m going to--“ she gasped, cheeks flushed. He quickly moved his hands to her clit to help her finish, watching her face as she breathes his name like a prayer.

Yes.

Yes.

_ Yes. _

……..

He reached out and lifted one of her curls from where it lay between them. He was completely and totally pathetic. He held it between his fingers, more black than brown in the darkness of his room. A small tug and then he let her hair fall back to lay in the empty space between them.

He wasn’t sure how long he watched her, but eventually her eyes blinked open. Her mask of sleepiness faded, and a smile tugged on her lips. Draco nearly groaned at the look in her eyes. She sat up, his 600 thread-count sheets falling off her chest and pooling around her lap. Her spine straight, naked and unashamed, and that damn smile on her lips.

“What time is it?” she asked, and he shrugged because he hadn’t the faintest clue.

It was her turn to watch him. The way he sat up beside her, twisting to face her, unaware--or perhaps, she amended, very aware--of how every movement he made showcased a different set of muscles.

“I have an early morning at the Ministry,” she said, and then she sunk into him. She rolled her tongue around his, her fingers moving over his shoulders.

One of his hands was on her knee, the other behind her head. His teeth on her lower lip, the way she liked it… Because, what had he mentioned to her once? About sooner not doing something at all if he wasn’t going to do it right.

And there he was. When he brushed the inside of her left thigh with his fingers and he felt her squirm, he pressed the weight of his hand--warm and heavy--against her thigh again. When his breath touched the shell of her ear and she tightened her hold on his shoulder, he nibbled.

When he ran his tongue over her nipple and she tossed her head back, mumbling his name, he spent extra time exploring there, eliciting more breathy sounds from her throat.

Draco had studied her, learned what made her tick, and became an expert in giving her pleasure. 

He ran a hand up her calf, to her knee. “I love your legs.” His hand skimmed up her thigh, twisting to cup her cheeks in both hands, squeezing her. “And your arse. Dammit Granger, you have no idea how much I love your arse. Dream about it.”

He lay her down and settled himself between her thighs, lips ghosting over her as he breathed. “And your cunt…” He kissed her. “...perfect.”

Hermione’s head tilted back on the pillow as his kisses moved up her body, over her navel, pausing just above her right breast.

“Your tits.” He kissed there, too. “And your stupidly soft heart that cares about every magical creature, even the ugly ones.”  _ Even me _ .

“Draco…”

“Your pretty mouth and that tongue. The way it kisses me, lectures me, strokes the base of my cock…” He kissed her there, too.

“Your hair… Such a mess, always.” He kissed her temple. “And this brain that bested me in school and keeps me up at night…”

“And me?” she asked, cocking one eye open and staring at him.

He grunted. “So needy…”

She bit her lip, not asking if he loved her, too. She felt the answer as his hand slipped around her waist.

“My mum wants to have dinner with you,” he mumbled.

“You told your mum about me?”

“She does read the  _ Prophet _ .”

Hermione blinked at his ceiling, wondering if they should perhaps have this conversation when his mouth wasn’t on her navel. “O...kay.”

Draco paused, sensing the tension in her words, the stiffness of her muscles.

“What’s wrong? You don’t have to have dinner with my mother.”

“No, no it’s not that.” She sat up then, gathering the sheets around her chest and clutching them until her knuckles turned white. “Would you be my date to Ron’s wedding?”

Draco stilled.

“A party hosted by the Weasleys? No.”

There was nothing in the entire world--wizarding or otherwise--he’d rather do less. Draco frowned. Being her wedding date was… serious. It was public. And it was the  _ Weasleys _ .

“I wouldn’t be welcome at the Burrow anyway,” he grumbled.

“The wedding is in France and being hosted by Camille’s family at their chateau in the countryside...”

“So many people would see us.” He avoided looking at her. “They’d think we’re dating.”

Hermione laughed. “So?”

“So we  _ aren’t  _ dating, Granger.”

“I don’t care what other people think. It’s not going to be a very fun evening for me. And you… distract me.” She bit her lip. “You make things fun.”

Draco paused, his eyes snapping to meet hers. “I’m a distraction?”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I enjoy being with you, Draco. I want you to be there with me.”

He glared back at her, angry with her for asking--for not letting it go after he’d said no. He moved back toward her, ready to drop this conversation, but she shifted away.

“I don’t care if people think we’re dating, but you do, don’t you? Because I’m not wealthy,” she bit her lip, “because I’m Muggle-born?”

He glared at her. “You know I don't care about any of that.”

“Then why won’t you be my date?”

“I’m not going to a Weasley family event, Hermione. Don’t ask me again.”

He’d been patient with her. He hadn’t pushed her. He  _ liked  _ her. Somehow the swotty know-it-all from school who he’d once sneered down his nose at had become one of his very favorite people, but this… He didn’t want to ruin things, but he really, really didn’t want to attend Ronald Weasley’s wedding, even if he could have the smug satisfaction of having Hermione Granger hanging off his arm.

He watched her war with herself--physically biting her tongue to keep her retort in. And Draco warred with himself, too. He wanted her to drop the subject, but he also wanted to see her rage, to watch her fight.

Instead, she exhaled. “So, dinner? With your mother?”

Draco nodded, not trusting that the subject was entirely dropped. “Yes, at the Manor.”

“Okay.” She leaned back on his bed, frowning at his ceiling. “I have no idea what to wear.”

“You’ll be fine,” he grinned.

“Maybe afterwards you could give me a tour of the library…”

He chuckled, rolling on his side to face her. “And then we could sneak into my old bedroom…”

“It’s probably got a four-poster bed and Slytherin pendants hanging on the walls.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Her lips flexed into a smile as she reached a hand out to push some of his hair off his forehead. “Draco Malfoy, are you trying to get me to make out with you on your childhood bed?”   


He moved to straddle her, grinning down at the mock-shocked expression on her features. “Maybe…”

Her laughter filled the room as he kissed her neck, her fingers trailing five lines up his chest that he could barely feel. When her hand flattened against his chest, his heartbeat quickened and he knew they both felt it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to ramsitter for being my first beta and therefore being extremely patient with me while I figure this story writing stuff out. She's pushed me and encouraged me. I added some bits to this chapter on her advice, so if you spy any errors those are on me because the revised bits are un-beta'd.
> 
> Also! I made a tumblr. It's a baby account with exactly one follower, haha, but I'd love some Dramione friends! :D
> 
> https://purplesugarquills.tumblr.com/

It was cold enough that their Sunday brunch was moved indoors. Even with the aid of warming charms and the glow of muggle fires, the restaurant insisted that they dine inside.

Theo scrunched his nose, Hermione ignoring his complaint about being relocated as she buttered her toast. Ginny shifted the conversation to Ron’s wedding, dodging Theo’s jabs about when she’d be ready to plan her own wedding.

“When Harry proposes, I suppose,” Ginny joked, and Hermione paused, butterknife stilling over the pad of strawberry jam.

All of her conversations with Harry pointed toward not wanting to pressure Ginny into anything that she wasn’t ready for. Hermione bit her lip. But maybe…

“What are you grinning about?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Toast sufficiently decorated, Hermione bit into the sliced bread and chewed.

“Don’t let her deceive you,” Theo grinned conspiratorially. “She’s got her head in the clouds, half in love, I’d say.”

Hermione felt her brow pucker, but Theo continued, “It hasn't escaped my notice that Draco’s been missing boy’s nights recently. And when I do have occasion to see him, he’s got that smug grin he wears when he’s under the impression he’s on the top of the bloody world.”

“Does he now?” Ginny drummed her fingers on the champagne flute. “Hermione skipped my last two Harpies games _and_ she had me help her get dressed--”

“For dinner at the Manor with Mrs. Malfoy?” Theo nodded. “Pansy told me.”

Ginny’s finger stilled, her eyes warm and serious. “Is it serious, then?”

Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs, the steady thumping of delight and anticipation and, yes, Hermione inhaled, perhaps even a little bit of fear.

“I think so.”

Theo and Ginny shot her twin looks of delight, Ginny squealing as Theo tried to hide his smile by taking a sip of tea.

“Are you bringing him to Ron’s wedding?!”

Hermione’s face fell. “He doesn’t want to go.” She watched her friends’ expressions carefully. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”

Theo shrugged. “Draco hates the Weasleys. No offense, Gin.”

“Feeling’s mutual. But…” Ginny’s voice trailed, and Hermione could grasp at the quiet coattails of her word, the stone of dread sinking deeper in her insides.

“But he should like me more than he hates Ron, right? I tried to not make it complicated, I did, I just changed the subject to avoid a fight, but… I wish I hadn’t. I want to fight him on this.”

Theo sipped his mimosa. Ginny stabbed at her waffle. They both avoided eye contact.

“And he shouldn’t want me to be there alone. _And_ he shouldn’t want me to go with anyone else.” She could feel the anger seeping into her tone, could _feel_ her face pinching as she voiced her thoughts aloud. “How could he expect me to have tea with his mother like we’re a serious couple and skip my best friend’s Quidditch matches because we can’t keep our hands off one another but be so proud that he’ll have me go to my ex’s wedding alone?!”

“Draco is…” Theo squinted. “Complex.”

“I know. And I’m trying not to take it personally,” Hermione grumbled.

But she was. She really, really was.

  
  
  


……

  
  
  


A shaking secretary in a corduroy vest shuffled nervously in the doorway of Hermione’s office.

She hoped her smile was kind, but she knew she couldn’t manage patience. Not when she had to be at Ginny’s game in an hour and the pile of reports on her desk was-

“Mr. Potter has sent me to inform you that Mr. Malfoy’s been injured on the job today.”

“What?!” Hermione dropped the parchment she’d been drafting. It fell to the table, nearly soundless, but Hermione’s next moves were strident. Yanking on her wool coat, tossing her scarf around her neck, fingers shaking as her lips fumbled for more information.

Thankfully, the shuffling secretary elaborated, “He’s been sent to Saint Mungo’s.”

She apparated outside the door of the hospital, pushing through the front doors. The reception area wasn't overly crowded--a small girl hiccuping bubbles sat hunched in one of the rickety chairs, her hands grasping an older witches robes. An elderly wizard who looked as though his skin had turned a violent shade of orange was reading the paper.

And Draco… Hermione bit her lip, speed-walking toward the main desk.

“I’m here to see a patient. Draco Malfoy.” Hermione pleaded with the receptionist--a pretty young witch with strawberry blonde curls and a nose like a shank button. “I need… I need to see him.”

“Sorry. We can’t give away patient information unless you’re immediate family.” For her sweet appearance, her voice was awfully sharp, and she didn’t so much as look up from the clipboard she’d been studying.

Tears burned the corners of Hermione’s eyes. She wanted to stomp her foot, to demand to be listened to. To make sure that Draco--

“Hermione Granger?!” a second receptionist said, voice awed and blue eyes wide.

“Yes. That’s the one.”

The button-nosed receptionist looked up for the first time during their exchange, a flush blooming across her features. The pair of receptionists shared a look, and the first one nodded.

“He’s on the potions recovery floor.”

Hermione nodded in thanks before sprinting to the stairs, taking them two at a time. She hadn’t climbed so many stairs since Hogwarts, and her legs ached and lungs burned by the time she reached the potions recovery ward.

She raced through the hallway, looking through doorways, listening for any signs. She pushed past a wizard in lime robes, coming to a full-stop outside of the doorway where Draco’s voice carried through the place like he owned it. Which, she knew, the Malfoy family had at least one wing opened thanks to their generous donations...

“And can you believe it was _Harry Potter_ who authorized it?” His words were punctuated by a grunt. “I think if the wizarding world caught on to what working under him is really like, they’d--”

Hermione stepped into the room--panting, face flushed, hair wild around her face and shoulders.

Her eyes took in the sight of Draco Malfoy, still dressed in his auror uniform, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. He looked perfectly fine, one toned forearm extended as an annoyed-looking mediwitch applied a cream-colored healing potion to his wrist.

He stared at her. “Did you run all the way here?”

“I thought… They’d made it sound like you…”

The elation that curled his mouth had her worry rapidly evaporating, had relief and annoyance and mortification mixing her insides like a potion.

The healer never stopped frowning as she assessed the wound on his arm. 

“Mr. Malfoy will live. But he _should_ be more careful on the job. That’s a pretty nasty potion you got hold of. Lucky you managed to cast a spell limiting its mobility so quickly.”

“Yes, well, if my idiot partner hadn’t dropped the vial, I wouldn’t have had to catch it.” Draco turned to Hermione, teeth flashing. “Gotta try and steal a sample if we’re going to make a counter-potion, right love?”

She stared at him, heartbeat still thrumming. “You’re fucking _fine_ . Fucking _Harry Potter_.”

Draco watched her, curiosity and amusement painting his features, as the healer stepped back.

She plucked her clipboard up from the side table and sighed. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you for two more hours, but you’re exhausting and far too prim and needy for this place. I’m officially releasing you into the care of Hermione Granger.”

“Hear that? You have to attend to my every need.” He flashed his worst grin, and then his expression faltered. “Are you crying, Granger?!”

It took just two of her stomping footsteps to cross the room and then he was staring up at her from his place on the bed. The look on his face made her wonder if he thought she might slap him. Again.

Instead, her arms slung around him, circling his back, fingers tightening in his hair, and her breath warm against his chest as she mumbled, “I was worried about you, stupid dolt.”

He chuckled, his lips catching in her hair.

She sniffled against him and Draco wrapped his uninjured arm around her back.

“Do you want to grab dinner?”

She pulled back to look down at her watch. “No, I can’t.”

“Plans?”

“Harpies game. I haven’t been a very good friend recently. Been too distracted by this needy, prissy bloke…”

“You hate Quidditch.”

She lifted a brow. “I do, yes.”

“Even when I play?”

She laughed. “Yes, even when you play.” He pouted so petulantly that Hermione couldn’t help but to lean forward and kiss his nose. “But you wear its clothes well…”

He smirked. “I'll come along, then. To the match. You can keep an eye on me, so you don’t get too worried about my health and safety while I’m out of eyesight. Not sure if you could survive two sprints up the stairwells at Mungos in a day.”

“Theo was right. You have an ego the size of a Ukranian Ironbelly.”

“You and Theo talk about me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable. Being around you is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me…”

As they approached the door, walking past the knowing healer who pretended to study her clipboard, they all three knew her words couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  
  
  


……

  
  
  


As they sat in the box for the teams’ friends and their families sipping Butterbeers, Draco’s fingers drawing small circles over the outside of her denim-clad thighs, he watched her think.

There was something off about her expression. The downward tilt of her lips, the furrow of her brow.

He stopped tracing circles, stopped sipping his drink.

“What?” he asked. She turned to face him, her brown eyes liquid fire.

“We were photographed walking in together.”

One of his pale brows lifted. “So?”

“ _So_ , doesn’t it bother you? It’s very public.”

“I don’t mind being seen in public with you, Hermione.” He felt surprise paint his features. “What would give you that impression?”

She laughed. “ _You_! You told me if you went with me to Ron’s wedding that people would see us. That they’d think we’re dating.”

Draco rubbed his forehead, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else having any other conversation. She was mad, and he didn’t know how to make her _un_ mad at him. He liked her; he wanted to be with her. He didn't like Ronald Weasley and he didn't want to go to his wedding. Draco thought it over, trying to work out why those two things seemed mutually inclusive in her brilliant brain.

“I didn’t mean that I didn’t want people to think we’re dating. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

She frowned at him, unimpressed.

Draco exhaled. “My family knows, my friends know, everyone who reads _The Prophet_ knows. I like you, Hermione. What we have it’s… It’s good. It's fun.”

Her lips twitched but her frown didn’t falter. Draco fought the urge to rub his forehead again. Instead, he turned and watched the opponent's seeker zooming toward a flicker of gold light in the distance.  
  
  


…...

  
  
  
  


She was laying in bed, reading a book when she asked him again.

“Come to Ron’s wedding with me.”

Draco sighed, shutting his own book and turning to face her. “Didn’t we already have this conversation? And didn’t I tell you not to ask me again.”

“Maybe, but I don’t understand why.” Hermione sat on his bed with her legs crossed, plucking invisible lint off the oversized shirt she slept in. “You’re clearly over your blood prejudices enough to shag me. To take me out to dinner. To meet your _mother_. Why’s a wedding any different?”

“The Weasley’s are different. I don't want to go there, to be around them. They won’t like it if I’m there, anyway.”

“Draco, I… I don’t want to go with anyone else.”

He stilled. He didn’t want her to go with anyone else, either. But he knew it was unfair to ask that. He thought about making another comment about how they weren’t dating, but he knew he wasn’t simply helping her get a shag anymore; they were both far too smart, far too practical, to pretend that whatever relationship they had hadn’t evolved into something more.

They were also both so bad at relationships that they’d both avoided defining what, exactly, that _something more_ was.

“You’re strong, Hermione. You don’t need someone to stand by your side during something so trivial as a wedding. You’re a bloody _war heroine_ , you’ve faced worse.”

“But I _want_ someone there. No… I don’t want _someone_ there, I want you there. With me.”

“A distraction.”

“Draco… You know you’re more than a distraction to me.” Her brown eyes were fire, burning and brilliant and he knew instantly this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. “I want you to come to Ron’s wedding with me. I want to show you off to my friends--they all read _The Prophet_ anyway, Draco. They’ve seen us on dates, you kissing me goodbye outside my building. And Ginny knows, and she isn’t exactly subtle...”

Draco sat in silence, feeling Hermione’s gaze burning.

When she spoke again, her voice was hard. “So, what? We keep doing this--shagging, dinners, walking me home from work and shagging some more--and then what?”

“What else is there?” He wanted to laugh. He wished they were standing so he could cross his arms, maybe stamp his foot. She was impossible...

“That’s it? You’ll shag me but won’t be my date to things. You’ll fuck me against my desk at the Ministry but I can’t take you to lunch with Harry and Ginny? You won’t be around the Weasleys, who are practically family to me…”

He sighed. “Granger, I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want everything.” And her brown eyes were still burning. “I want it to be real.”

“It _is_ real.”

“Then be my date to the wedding.”

His lip curled. “No.”

“So I’m not allowed to ask you about Ron’s wedding because you don’t think you’d be welcome there, but you don’t have any trouble inviting me to dine with your mother in the place I was _tortured_ _while she watched?”_

Stunned into silence, Draco looked away. He could feel his shame burning, he could feel the pressure burning behind his eyes--the tendrils of doubt that reminded him that she was right. That putting on dress robes and brushing elbows for an evening with a group of people he didn’t much care for wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, it was something he did quite often. And for Hermione, he...

“Then I guess this is it.”

His head snapped up to look at her. She was angry--vibrating with it. But she was serious.

“I want something more, Draco. I want a wedding date. I want to shag you senseless _and_ take you home for Christmas. I deserve that, don’t you agree?”

He stared at her. She deserved everything.

She deserved someone who would give her everything she wanted. He’d allowed himself to think, selfishly for a time, that he could be the one to do that, but… but no. There wasn’t a universe where someone like him and someone like _Hermione Granger_ could end up together.

This was inevitable.

So he sighed. “You’re right. This never would’ve worked out anyway.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am so blown away by the response for the last chapter! Somehow I received 3x the comments I normally get, and everyone was (rightfully) shouting at Draco. 😂
> 
> The next (and last!) one is complete and with my amazing beta, ramsitter. All the thanks for her eyes on this one, too.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who followed me on tumblr! Thanks to everyone who gave this story a chance! Happy Christmas and I hope you enjoy ❤️

Sitting at her desk she was surrounded by stacks of paperwork—proposals that needed her signature, documents she’d wanted to read over, a dozen or so folders crammed with decade-old literature on vampire laws she’d pulled for research. Though each of these piles required her attention, Hermione’s brain was elsewhere.

_ This never would’ve worked out anyway _ .

She frowned. It was the sort of line someone would use to hurt someone, to end things with a deafening blow. And maybe Draco needed her to push back, to assure him that she didn’t need a wedding date, that she just wanted him.

But she didn’t contradict him, and Hermione was far too stubborn to go back on her word now. As much as she missed the stupid prat—as much as thinking back on their months of interactions, on how easily and neatly he’d nestled his way into her life—she hadn’t been wrong.

He’d taken her to meet his mother and then said going to a Weasley wedding was out of the question.

“Hypocrite,” Hermione grumbled to the proposal on flobberworm gardening charms.

She’d always known him to be selfish and slightly malicious, petty and greedy to his core. But with her, he’d been… It’d been so different. And she  _ missed him _ , damn him.

Plucking her quill from its holder, Hermione shook all thoughts of Draco Malfoy from her head and got to work.

She spent the next three days at the Ministry on edge. She glared at the coffee maker in the breakroom when it stopped working, she pretended not to notice the way her scowl had her colleagues practically scampering in the opposite direction when they didn’t need something from her. She took dinner in her office and only returned home to sleep and shower and glare at her reflection in the mirror.

Each time she stepped from the lift, her stomach sank in anticipation, but of course he wasn’t waiting for her at the Atrium doors.

She agreed to drinks with some of the ladies from her department after work on Friday evening, but her head wasn’t in it. Sipping a Butterbeer so long it’d gone tepid, she smiled and nodded along to a conversation she was only half following.

Saturday was spent reading in bed in her comfiest pajamas, and by Sunday morning she decided she didn’t want to mope any longer. Draco might’ve made her feel happy and desired, he might’ve made her laugh and complimented her well, but she was ready to accept their relationship for what it was—he’d taught her what she’d enlisted him to teach her, showed her a good time, and now she was ready to settle into something serious and permanent. Someone who would take her to weddings, someone she could bring to the Burrow for Christmas.

And besides, Ron’s wedding was next weekend and she’d already responded that she’d be bringing a date.

“Can’t you just take a friend from work?” Ginny suggested kindly, but Hermione shook her head, fingertips pinching the stem of her champagne flute so hard she wondered if it’d snap.

“I’d like to bring a date.”

Theo sighed. “Can’t you just talk to Malfoy? He’s miserable, you know.”

She didn’t know. She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken with him or spotted him at the Ministry. So she shook her head. “No. He was the one to muck everything up, and he’s had plenty of time to get over himself.”

Ginny and Theo exchanged a look, and Hermione knew they agreed with her. Malfoy had dropped the quaffle or whatever stupid Quidditch metaphor Ginny had come up with.

“So,” Hermione sat up straighter, her brunch plate barely touched in front of her, “what about that guy you told me about, Charlie’s friend? You’d mentioned he was interested in me.”

Ginny’s lips flattened. “I don’t know, Hermione. It seems too soon.”

“I don’t deserve a rebound?”

Ginny and Theo shared another look, another silent conversation seemed to pass between the pair, and then Ginny grumbled.

“Fine. I’ll have him owl you,” Ginny conceded. “His name’s Thomas and he used to help out at the dragon reserve. He’s a kind man. Big hands, so hopefully a big dick--”

“I’m not positive that’s how that works,” Hermione interrupted.

Theo shrugged. “It’s kind of how that works.”

  
  
  


……

  
  
  


Hermione met Thomas on Thursday evening at a muggle restaurant in London. He’d picked a busy street that had been decorated for the holidays--the trees wrapped in fairy lights, branches gleaming like crystal in the night   
  
At the end of the street an oversized Christmas tree stood covered with red ribbon and gold balls the size of bludgers, and around her the promise of snow hung in the air. The temperature chilly enough that her breath escaped in gentle puffs of white.

Hermione only had to wait for four minutes before Thomas approached, walking in her direction with his hands stuffed into the depths of his worn wool coat.

When he stopped before her, he pulled one of his hands out of his pocket to shake hers in greeting. His hands were massive, dwarfing her own. Hermione flushed as she remembered Ginny’s words.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kind eyes ticking over her features.

“Oh, yes.” Hermione smiled, showing lots of teeth. Hoping she didn’t look like an insane person. She  _ felt  _ like an insane person.

Then she sat across from him at the restaurant. She ordered tea, she munched on bread, she decided on a soup, and tried as hard as she could to enjoy herself. She  _ wanted _ to enjoy herself.

Thomas was kind. His job was noble and interesting. He was the type of man that didn’t speak a lot, but there was something important about the words he used in his short responses.

He agreed to split the check. Told her she had lovely hair.

Hermione smiled at all the right moments and debated holding his hand on the walk back to the apparition point.

There wasn’t a spark, her heartbeat didn’t pound nor did her lips stretch to a giddy grin she couldn't shake, but maybe… Maybe she could give it a chance. Maybe Theo was right. Maybe she needed to shag him first to make sure.

She shivered, thinking about having sex with someone who wasn’t Draco. Her stupid, treterous heart…

“Are you okay? You’re shivering.” Thomas watched her with those kind eyes, and Hermione tried to smile. It felt forced and tight and wrong. “Would you like my coat?”

She smiled and accepted the wool coat, thanking him for his kindness as she slipped the large coat over her shoulders.

It didn’t hold Draco’s warmth, his scent. It was  _ wrong _ . All wrong. Hermione’s feet faltered, a pressure burning behind her eyes.

She attempted to shake it off. To scold herself for clinging to something that was over, to someone who didn’t want a future with her.

“I feel bad,” she said, handing him back his coat. “Now  _ you’re  _ cold.”

He laughed a low, merry sound as he slipped his coat back on, and when they stopped at the apparition point, Thomas leaned in to kiss her goodnight.

Hermione took a step back, eyes wide as fear and guilt and trepidation swirled low in her stomach.

This was wrong. This was far too soon. And, mostly, this was completely unfair to a very nice man who was nothing but kind and genuine. He’d probably even go to Ron’s wedding with her if she asked him.

But she didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want to ask anyone but that stupid prat who made her toes curl and her breath catch and her heart bruise.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked. His eyes were so kind...

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re lovely.” She wrung her hands in front of her chest, chewing on her lip as guilt gnawed her insides raw.

“Hey, Hermione…”

“I shouldn’t have done this. I just got out of the first relationship I’ve been in in ages, and I wasn’t-- it wasn’t fair to you…”

“Hey. I like you.” Thomas laughed, holding her wringing hands still before letting her go. “You’re beautiful, smart, amazing… Infamous, really. And you can always owl me if you decide, later, that you’re ready. I’m a patient man.”

Hermione felt herself smile sadly at the kind man she’d had no business dragging along on a farce of a date.

“You’re going to make some witch extremely happy.”

A rueful tilt of his lips, big hands running through his dark hair, a sigh and then, “That’s what I hear.”

  
  
  


…..…...

  
  
  


Draco slogged through the week. During the few interactions he had to have with Potter, the other wizard was more standoffish than usual. Thankfully, the case Draco was working on was confounding. There were more loose ends than any one auror could handle on their own--he buried himself in the work and tried not to enlist the help of anyone else.

He spied her once, glaring at a coffee pot in the breakroom, but he didn’t say anything. A part of him feared that she’d simply ignore him--or worse, that she’d be cold and call him Malfoy, nothing playful about her tone.

By Friday evening, he found himself in a dodgy pub in Knockturn, Blaise’s hands clasping his shoulder.

“You should hook up with someone. It looks like you need it.”

Draco lifted his head to look around, but no… there wasn’t really a rebound to someone like Hermione Granger.

Not really expecting a response, Blaise sauntered off, and Draco was left with only Theo’s condescending frown.

“What?” he snapped.

“She’s dating.”

Draco stilled. “She’s what?”

“Well, not dating. She went on a date.”

“When?”

Theo’s eyes were dark, studying him. Waiting for him to say something, but Draco wasn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, what he’s supposed to say. Hermione and Theo were friends. Hermione went on a date...

Theo lifted a single shoulder to his ear. “Last night.”

“And?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “She didn’t owl me all the details, Draco. But Ginny and I know she isn’t ready.”

“And you and the Weaslette are  _ so _ close.”

“Don’t be a prat. She wouldn’t be out there dating if you hadn’t told her that it ‘never would’ve worked anyway.’”

Draco felt his jaw clench. He should sip his Firewhiskey. He should go back to his flat. He should find Hermione and tell her it probably wouldn’t work out, but he’d like to try anyway.

“And all of this because you won’t go to a fucking wedding?”

Draco grunted. “She could’ve just agreed to go alone.”

“You’re a prat.”

“I am.”

“Don’t fucking sleep with anyone here. It won’t make you feel any better and you’ll just end up hurting her more if she does decide to give you a second chance for some reason.”

Draco closed his eyes. He knew Theo was right. And he admitted, “I don’t want to sleep with someone else. I just want to shag her.”

Theo exhaled. “Good. I'll buy you a drink and you can tell me about how shitty you are and maybe we can come up with a way to say  _ I’m sorry I’m a prat who doesn’t deserve you _ .”

Draco awoke the following morning feeling like shit, but his pain was remedied shortly after a hangover potion and a plate of breakfast. He was feeling better, that is, until he flipped open  _ The Prophet  _ before his first sip of tea and there was Granger. A tall bloke with a shock of dark hair placing his enormous hand on the small of her back.

_ Fuck. _

  
  
  


_ ….. _

  
  
  


By Monday morning, Draco wasn’t sure how to apologize.

He could admit to himself and to others that he ought to have just agreed to go to the sodding wedding in the first place. He hated the Weasleys, but he knew for some reason those idiots meant the world to Hermione. Besides, if he went he’d get to kiss her in front of all those Gryffindors and see how poorly she danced, and…

Harry shuffled the papers between them. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and as though sensing the direction of Draco’s thoughts, said, “The wedding is this weekend.”

Draco paused, as though letting the words sink in. Pretending like this was the first time he’d been considering it. Like he hadn’t been kicking himself since he woke up to the paper half-convinced he was far too late.

“She decide to take someone?”

“I…” Harry looked away, his mouth in a firm line. “I don’t want to talk to you about her. We’re friends, Malfoy. We are. But you hurt my  _ best  _ friend.”

He ran his hands through his hair, mussing the blond strands into disarray.

“I miss her.”

“Then tell  _ her _ that, not me.”

Draco exhaled. “Fine. Postpone this meeting. I… I have something I need to take care of.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
> 
> New beginnings and all that ♡
> 
> A final, gigantic thanks to my beta ramsitter for her work on this final chapter. Writing this taught me that I'm a chaotic POVer and maybe I should just stick to either Draco OR Hermione's POV in the future, haha.
> 
> An enormous hug for anyone who left kudos and comments. For those who sent me a DM or silently read and didn't hate every line. I appreciate you!
> 
> Tumblr: https://purplesugarquills.tumblr.com/

Draco knocked on her office door before taking a step back, shoving his hands into the depths of his trouser pockets. He could hear her shuffling around on the other side of the wall, could nearly make out the insults she mumbled beneath her breath, directed toward whoever dared interrupt her work.

He could picture her, too, and when she called out a sharp  _ Come in  _ and he opened the door, Draco didn’t have to just imagine her anymore.

Quill in hand, Hermione Granger glanced up and met his eyes.

“Oh.” She blinked. Once. Twice. “Hello.”

He didn’t know what to say, where to begin, so he closed her office door and started with: “I’m sorry.”

She stared at him, tilting her head to one side as though she hadn’t heard him. He wanted to roll his eyes, but getting upset with her wouldn’t bode well for his apologizing… And maybe she had every right to make him suffer a bit through this.

His mouth flattened and he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

One of her brows lifted and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smile. “For?”

He sighed. “For not just agreeing to go to the wedding the second you brought it up. I knew it was important to you, and I’m not… I’m not used to putting someone else’s interests in front of my own. I haven’t ever been in a relationship like that. But I realize, if I want to be with someone--and I do, want to be with you, that is--then sometimes I’m going to have to do things I don’t like because it will make them-- _ you _ \--happy.”  
  
She inclined her head, watching him carefully.

Draco felt his lips twitch. “Like listening to them tell me all about nonfiction new releases while I’m going down on them…”

She bit back a grin, humor shining in her eyes.

“Or ordering from the Thai restaurant all the way on eleventh street when the place below my building is far superior…”

She grunted. “Hardly.”

“And sometimes I might fuck it all up because I’m a selfish prat who doesn’t deserve you, but… But it’s simple, really. When I don’t know how to do something, I learn. When I can’t figure something out, I research. And when I’m not the fucking greatest at something, I practice.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“And when I still don’t understand something, I consult an instructor.” He stared at her, hands still shoved into the depths of his pockets. “And if you’ll be patient with me, I’d like you to be the one to teach me how to be good enough to deserve you. Good enough to stand by your side. And you’re Hermione _fucking_ Granger. More than strong enough to attend Ronald _Weasley’s_ wedding alone, but far too amazing to be with someone who’d make you.”

She was still holding her quill. She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“Unless, ah,” he shifted his weight, “unless you’ve already asked someone else?”

“I haven't.”

“What color are you wearing, then? I want to make sure we coordinate.”

She laughed. “Draco, we don’t have to coordinate. I’m in the wedding party.”

“What color.”

“You don’t remember the dress? From the shop?”

He grinned. “I do.”

Then for a moment, he felt his confidence waning. “Do you still want me to go with you? I know I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “you have, and yes, I do still want to go with you.”

He took two steps toward her, keeping his hands in his pockets. Keeping his eyes on her.

“I’ve missed you. And if you want me to go to more Weasley weddings with you… Well, there are a ton of them, aren’t there?” His hand twitched with the urge to tuck a strand of her hair that had fallen out of its bun behind her ear. “Bound to be more tacky weddings. So I’ll go to all of them with you. If you’ll have me.”

“Draco, I want it to be real.” Her brow furrowed as she studied him, her voice rising with that near-lecturing tone she used when she was trying to get her point across. “Dates, telling my friends you’re my boyfriend, homemade sweaters at the Burrow for Christmas.”

“Fine.”

She dropped the quill onto her desk. “Kiss me.”

And he did.

When he pulled away, he removed his hand from his pocket. “After the wedding, let’s grab a drink.” His hand settled on the curve of her waist, wondering how he’d gone so many days without having it there. “I know a little place in Champagne we could sneak off to...”

  
  
  


……

  
  
  


Beneath the canopy of starlight, Draco Malfoy held out a chair at an intimate vineyard in the north of France.

Hermione plopped down into the chair and smiled up at him, shucking off her heels and sighing in relief. She’d cast two different cushioning charms that morning, but an evening of dancing with Ginny and Harry and Ron and Draco Malfoy had the corners of her mouth aching from laughter and her feet nearly numb from the pain.

She glanced around the vineyard. Above her head lantern light twinkled in the trees. In the distance, the moonlight cast ethereal shadows along what seemed like endless rows of vines stretching in every direction, dipping below the hills and twisting past the horizon.

_ “This _ is the little place you know?”

“Pays to have friends in high places. Pansy’s family has had this vineyard in their family for generations.”

Hermione sipped her first taste of Parkinson sparkling wine. It tasted expensive.

After her glass was emptied, Draco conjured a blanket and spread it on the grass. He patted the empty space at his hip and Hermione laughed, joining him on the blanket--barefoot and heart full.

“Thank you,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know not all the Weasley’s were thrilled to have you, but...”

“Yes, well, Ginny’s enthusiasm certainly made up for that.”

She grinned. “She’s a good friend.”

“Can’t believe Potter hasn’t married her yet.”

Hermione hummed. “Just a matter of time, I suppose.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder to stare into his eyes, squeaking as he kissed her, pressing her back into the blanket and snaking his hand up her calf, over her knee, tickling the inside of her thigh, and then--

“Hermione Granger. You aren’t wearing any knickers.”

“No.” She smiled. “I’m not.”

He grunted against her throat. “Were you expecting to be whisked away to Champagne and shagged under the stars?”

Her hands tugged at his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. “I  _ am  _ dating Draco Malfoy, after all.”

He pulled the skirt of her dress around her thighs, mumbling into her throat that she looked beautiful tonight, as her hands worked at the belt and buttons of his trousers.

Then he slotted himself between her thighs and stared down at her, kissing the corner of her mouth before pushing inside her--grunting at the feel of her perfect cunt stretching around his cock.

He’d never tire of this.

Her hands grasped his shoulders as he pulled out before filling her once again--over and over again until a light sheen of sweat coated his brow. Until her mouth fell open in bliss, a sign he knew meant she was close.

“Draco!” she cried, hands tightening in his shirt. Twisting the fabric as she came, walls fluttering around him as she panted beneath him. Draco rested his weight on his hands, holding himself back to watch her come, kissing the dazed expression on her face before relentlessly moving his hips against hers, breathing her name as he kissed her throat.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles together to keep him close. He kept his pace, filling her with each thrust of his hips until his eyes squeezed shut, the blinding white light overcoming his senses as he came.

“Hermione,” he breathed. “Fuck, you feel so good. So perfect for me.”

She tightened around him in response and he cursed before pulling out. Twisting to lay beside her, Draco closed his eyes and listened to her chatter about constellations.

“And I think Draco is most visible from where we are in France during the month of July, but over there…”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, yanking her to his side. She laughed and kissed him, her fingertips lightly tracing his jaw.

“Hermione.”

She smiled. “Draco.”

And he stared at her. The brilliant, frustrating, beautiful woman who’d asked him to teach her something once. He should’ve known that evening while she sat drunk at that corner table of the Leaky, that she’d be the one to teach him everything.

  
  
_.finis._   



End file.
